The Shortest Days
by radioraheem
Summary: Chaos had torn the city apart: walking undead and bloodthirsty monsters awaited the few remaining survivors. In the madness that would hound them, each found something they thought they had lost. But their nightmare was only beginning...Outbreak FF
1. The Tenements

The Tenements

She woke with a start; sunlight poured into the room through the jagged slits of a hastily boarded window. For a moment, she thought she was at home again, in the comfort of her old soft bed, and that she had forgotten to close the blinds again. But as her eyes slowly regained their focus, Cindy Lennox realized she was still there, still in the wreck that was Raccoon City. And that damned outbreak…it wasn't a dream, or a nightmare. It was real.

The stained mattress beneath her reeked of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke. She had worked for years in a bar, but had never had the misfortune of smelling such a pungent odor first thing in the morning. Her nose reflexively scrunched, and she was fully awake. She looked around the room; it appeared to be a tenement building of some sort, probably just outside of downtown. Chips of plaster, half empty liquor bottles (she hoped it was liquor, but what vagrants ever left half full bottles of booze?), and crushed cigarette filters lined the floor. Spray paint covered most of the walls in illegible scrawl, but most of that had been chipped away too.

She turned her attention to the door. It was propped close with a short shelf of some sort, and a chair. In the chair sat the man she had only met two days ago. He had come into the bar occasionally. He usually kept to himself, and was an excellent tipper. His dark smile drove most of the female patrons wild, and even some of the male ones. Still, he seemed most comfortable with his own space. She was careful not to intrude too much upon him on the rare occasions he came in; but she couldn't resist looking at him several times a shift. He was handsome, alright, in a brooding, intellectual way. His eyes seemed to focus when he was thinking, and they seemed to shine with a brilliance she had never seen in a man before. His dark hair seemed always to be perfectly parted, and he seemed the type never to comb it or even run his hands through it.

"Ah, you're awake. Good," George said, not taking his eyes off his project. His shirt sleeves were rolled up around his elbows, and he seemed quite intent on whatever it was he was doing.  
"What are you doing?" she asked, rising from the dirty mattress. A gray jacket lay atop her. She realized it was George's, and she felt a rush of intimacy before handing it to him. He didn't seem to notice; just nodded his head and casually slipped into the sleeves as if he were leaving the house for work.

He had lined several bottles along the top of the shelf. Each had varying amounts of strange liquids in them. George carefully measured another, before pouring it into a container already filled with a grayish substance.

"Consolidating our resources," he answered, "we need to travel lightly."

"But what are those?" she said, the curiosity gnawing at her.

"These two are a mix of-" he started, when the door suddenly jolted. The force of the impact stuttered the shelf, and the bottles spilled across the creaky floor.

"What the--?" he cried, reaching for the gun tucked into the back of his pants.

"Hey guys, whatcha doing?" said Jim, his head sticking through the door, a goofy grin on his face.

"Dammit, Jim…!" George began, before calming himself.

"Jim, is everyone else ready to go?" asked Cindy, quickly easing the situation.

"Mornin', Cindy…yep, I think so! Mark says this place isn't safe," answered Jim, as George pulled the shelf aside. "What was with the barricade, doc?" he asked, winking.

"I thought it best to have it ready, just in case," George replied slowly, his anger now gone. He looked at the spilled liquids with a bit of regret. But it was soon gone.

Cindy collected the rest of her things; her medicine case and the small satchel full of herbs she had been able to collect. To her surprise, the satchel was much lighter than last night.

"I hope you don't mind, but I mixed those for you," said George, noting the surprise on her face. "I figured they'd be lighter and more accessible…I left your case alone though," he added, a sheepish grin on her face. He took her hand and guided her down the broken staircase.

---

"Are we sure we want to move this soon?" asked the young girl who sat in the corner, her eyes never leaving the window and the desolate street below. "This place is dirty, but at least it's quiet…and safe," she spoke, a slight tinge of fear in her voice.

If Cindy hadn't seen her in action the night before, she might have worried about her. This girl was young, but tougher than she had ever been. More than that, she was smart and level-headed, calm and collected. One of the creatures had grabbed at Mark through a shattered window, and before anyone else could react, she had quickly drew her pocket folding knife and stabbed it's grimy hands, freeing him. Mark, a bit shaken up, credited her with saving his life, saying that he could actually feel the creature's fetid breath on the skin of his neck. She only smiled her tight, controlled smile. Like she had aced a test everyone else in the class had failed, as if she knew all along that's what would happen.

"That's true, Yoko, but this place is a deathtrap as well," Mark replied, his deep voice reverberating through the room. His mind seemed to wander for a moment, and Cindy wondered if he was thinking of Bob again, his friend who had transformed right before their eyes, his friend whom he had to kill with his own hands to save the rest of them. "We have nowhere to retreat in this building, and with the fires out there…I'm afraid we have to keep moving," he finished.

"I agree," said George, everyone turning to him as he spoke. "Our goal was to reach higher ground, but our footing here isn't solid enough. There are better places in the city," he said, as everyone seemed to almost nod in agreement. He flashed Cindy a quick, secret smile, and she couldn't help but return it. She suddenly thought of something.

"What about the other survivors?" asked Cindy, the ever present note of concern in her voice. No one seemed to look at her in response. In fact, it seemed they deliberately kept their eyes from hers. "They might still be out there…they could need our help!" she said, her voice quaking with sudden emotion.

"They did what they needed to do," answered Mark, finally, a hint of regret in his voice.

"Right on, bro," piped in Jim. "I'm not risking _my_ neck for some gung ho shitheads who think this is a game or something!"

"But-" Cindy began. She stopped, though, when she felt a warm, strong hand on her shoulder. She turned her pleading eyes to George, who could only bow his head and close his eyes. He shook his head sideways, in one slow, reluctant motion.

"There's nothing we can do for them," he said, resignation in his voice. Cindy closed her eyes and fought back the tears. For the moment, her eyes remained dry; but she knew, deep in her heart, more of them would be lost and the tears would not stop then.

---

Cindy was able to find a patch of herbs on the 5th floor rooftop of the tenement building. Not too many, but enough to fill a few spaces in her carrying case. As she sat, staring across the cityscape, burning and nearly in ruins, she felt the urge to just end it and jump off the roof at that very instant. It was strange, how easily one thought of suicide, and how it took something so small and simple to pull you back to your senses. For Cindy Lennox, on that particular day, it was the way the sunlight bounced off the white-ridged mountaintops in the distance, the pale horizon seemingly infinite. A world this beautiful was worth fighting for; another moment like this could come along. No, it would come along, and maybe she'd have someone to share it with.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice from behind her spoke. Startled, she turned to see George by the stairs, an appreciative look on his face, his eyes squinting against the sun.

"Yes, I was quite taken with it…it reminded me of something," she said, her voice trailing off before turning back to the view. He was kind, but her disappointment in him remained from earlier.

"Hmm…a painting perhaps?" he asked, sitting down beside her.

"Why, yes…how did you know that?" she said, astonished. She was so surprised she turned to face him again, and found him grinning at her.

"Heh, it's the painting used in the city's travel brochure, and a piece in my collection."

"An art collector, huh? I once wanted to be an artist," she said, her eyes staring faraway into the sun now over the horizon.

"Really? I guess that explains all those 'herbs' you carry," George said, his voice deadpan. Cindy looked at him a moment, shocked, until she saw that glimmer in his dark eyes.

"Hey!" she yelled, shoving him away, "That's not funny; maybe I won't give you anymore to make your pills…or does that make you a pill popper?" she cried out, laughing. It felt good to laugh that morning, at that moment. It could've been any other day, any other place in the world where a young woman and man could share something beautiful. Or just a good laugh. It felt…normal.

Her giddiness over the moment soon wore off; her thoughts constantly crept back to the first hours of the outbreak. Everyone was screaming, yelling, crying…it was like a warped record, playing over and over in her head, but the music never right. Besides their group now, there were five others that had been with them. Five others…

Kevin had taken charge right away; he barricaded the bar entrance and began to calm everyone down, even issuing orders. But in the back of Cindy's mind, despite having a police officer in the situation, it was _Kevin_. Kevin, who had come in nearly everyday and drank himself into oblivion. Kevin, who on one particular night, waved his gun in the face of another patron after losing a game of darts (although Cindy suspected it having to do with his third consecutive failure of the STARS exam). Kevin, who on the night of the outbreak, had finished four beers and a fifth of scotch before drunkenly groping at Cindy (yet again). Kevin, who only minutes later, threw up after seeing the first monster up close. The monster was dead, and they were all safe, but still, Cindy was terrified. Kevin had burst out laughing, and even kicked the dead creature in the head. Cindy wondered if this was a dream come true for him; he got to shoot anything that moved, after all.

David was a quiet man, much like George, and also darkly handsome. He was a real macho type too; a working class guy with calluses on his hands and oil grease under his nails. He refused to have anything to do with the group, and disappeared on his own without saying a word about it. Jim had jokingly compared him to a ninja, the way he crept off on them in the darkness.

Will was bartender that night. It seemed like fate had it in for poor Will; he had switched shifts with Jeff earlier that day because he had heard Cindy was working. He'd had a crush on her from his very first day, and from then on, he had dedicated his every waking moment to making Cindy's life easier. It was flattering, but also sad in a way. Cindy knew in her heart that other women had made Will feel this way, and had used it to their advantage. He, in turn, thought that was his only way to impress a young woman. He was so kind, and giving. In the end, it was his concern over others that got him killed. He approached that first…that first _thing_, and it bit through his neck in one swift motion, turning him into one of them in only a few minutes. Kevin had put him down with his gun, but had needed four shots to do so with all the booze in his system. This was just before vomiting, though, so his aim naturally improved afterwards. As marginally good as that was.

Bob was one of Mark's coworkers, and his best friend. They had served in the war years earlier, and Bob had gotten Mark a night job at the security firm. Their wives were in a bridge club together, and their kids played with one another on Saturday afternoons. As such, it was only fitting that Mark end Bob's life once he transformed. Cindy worried about Mark; he was strong and reliable, but she couldn't help but feel a tangible sadness emanating from him.

Alyssa was an ambitious reporter always out for the next big scoop. She was a no nonsense kind of woman: aggressive, assertive, and angry. The few times Cindy had spoken to her, Alyssa had acted as if the world owed her something. Cindy felt, though, that it was all a mask. Alyssa was scared inside, and her tough face kept doubters out of her way. Cindy imagined it was a tough field, where there were so many more men. Alyssa once confided in her, though, that this was to her advantage. "I don't have to worry about my balls getting busted; I can do all the busting _my_ way. Remember that, Cindy," she had said to her, her voice slightly slurred from her third Cosmopolitan. Alyssa had disappeared with Kevin; she said she trusted a "real cop's" instincts over a "fat security guard's". Mark's face fell a bit at that, but he soon regained his composure.

None of them had been seen since, nearly 30 hours earlier. The city had begun its fall.

---

They rejoined the rest of the group downstairs, as they were finishing their preparations. Jim had drawn a crude map of the city on a dirty wall. Cindy had to admit she was quite impressed; his knowledge as a subway worker would come in handy. Before she could praise his usefulness, George spoke up from beside her.

"Jim, is there any safe passage through the subway tunnels?" he asked, a bit of hope in his voice as he stepped away from Cindy's side.

"Doubtful. We've seen that animals also mutate, not just humans," he answered. Cindy was once again impressed by his intelligence. George hadn't even considered that possibility, and he was a well-educated doctor. "I don't know about you, but I don't wanna get fuckin' eaten by a giant zombie rat…or worse…alligators," he said, ruining the moment as only he could.

"That's just an urban legend, Jim," said Yoko, her eyes never leaving his map.

"Hey, you don't know! A friend of mine told me-" he began, his voice getting excited.

"We can't waste time over this!" commanded Mark, slamming his fist into the table. Jim seemed to shrink back in fear, and everyone regained their focus. "We're moving out within the hour, so everybody be packed up and ready to go. No one's getting left behind," he said, his sad eyes meeting Cindy's.

It was funny; all her life Cindy had spent her days accumulating possessions. Shopping at the malls after her long shifts, or getting presents from admirers…it had given her a sort of purpose, to collect these things. Somehow, due to this outbreak, she had realized it had really all been for nothing. When she had to run for her life, those possessions she had spent years collecting and the apartment she had so meticulously decorated really didn't amount to much; only wasted time. She thought of this as she finished packing the last of her items: her full herb case, a first aid spray can, a first aid kit half full of bandages and gauze, a can of bug spray, and the small handgun that had been stashed away under the bar (with only 5 remaining bullets).

George, on the other hand, stacked his last bottle of grayish chemical into his satchel after carefully wrapping it in newspaper. The bag was brimming, ready to burst, but he didn't seem to notice as he threw the strap over his shoulder.

"Is that safe?" she asked.

"Huh? Oh yeah…that," he replied, obviously not thinking clearly. "Sure, I'll be able to mix them once we reach another safe point. Then they'll be dangerous," he said, his dark eyes glowing. "But not for us…for them."

Cindy couldn't help but giggle at that; this darkly handsome man in a well-cut suit, talking about killing zombies. George gave her a puzzled look.

"Forget about it; I'll tell you later," she said, stifling her giggles.

As she stepped out into the main foyer, Yoko came down the stairs from the rooftop, a thoughtful expression on her face. She didn't seem to notice Cindy standing only a few feet from her as she slung her filled backpack over her thin shoulders. Cindy couldn't help but wonder if she would topple over, the bag looked so full.

"What is it, Yoko?" asked Cindy.

"Those creatures; they don't seem to respond with vision. I stood out in clear daylight to see what would happen, and they didn't even notice me," she said, her brow furrowed.

"You did WHAT?" yelled Mark, grabbing her arm and turning her around. "You could get us all killed with a stunt like that!" he screamed, his voice rattling off the walls.

"Well…I did observe that they actually respond to smells, but especially…to sound," she said, her face cringing.

As if on cue, a loud crash sounded from downstairs. The barricade had fallen, and the zombies were pouring in, their moans audible through the creaky floor.

"Oh my god…we're trapped," cried Cindy, despair taking over her voice.

---

A short burst of gunshots snapped from below them. The four of them froze for a moment before heading up and away, toward the rear of the building. George told them to go ahead, and didn't even seem to notice the concerned look on Cindy's face.

"But why…?" she began.

"Jim's down there alone; I have to help him," he said, determined. "Go ahead, we'll catch up." He didn't even look back. Cindy wondered if this would be the last time she saw him. Somewhere in her heart, she wished that wouldn't be the case. The feeling surprised her.

"Right," said Mark, as he began to move back, his combat shotgun in hand. Yoko stayed close to him, her eyes constantly on the look out for blind spots and surprise attacks. Mark smiled at her. "I'm sorry about yelling at you Yoko…looks like this is all my fault after all," he said, his face reddening. Cindy got the feeling he wasn't used to apologizing to young girls.

"I'm sorry, too Mark," said Yoko. "I can't help but be inquisitive."

"Your observations will be of good use later on," said Cindy, joining them. Yoko gave her a surprised look, as if she thought Cindy wouldn't have been there with them. "Let's go."

Mark gave Cindy a second glance, as if her sudden determination were a surprise. It was a look a captain gave to a wet eared soldier when he finally proved himself ready for real combat. But the moment was soon gone, and they began to move.

---

Despite his bullets tearing soundly into their flesh, the zombies barely seemed to notice Jim as they stumbled over the fallen barricade. George bounded down the stairs to see Jim there, calmly firing his handgun into the face of a zombie that had previously been a bus driver of some sort. Jim looked over at George and grinned.

"I hate the fuckin' bus," he said. "Way too slow for me."

"Well then, let's get moving, Jim!" yelled George. "Come on!" It seemed pointless to him to waste their precious ammo on a few slow zombies, but somehow Jim always seemed to have more than enough to go around. Jim fired off three more shots before heading to the stairs. Surprisingly, all three shots were dead center, one even splitting open a zombie headapart like a ripened watermelon. The three zombies Jim hit all fell backwards onto other zombies, buying them valuable time.

"Sure thang, pardner," Jim said, blowing away the smoke from the gun muzzle.

As they ran up the shaky stairs, one zombie pushed its way ahead of the others, and with a short burst of incredible speed, covered the distance to the stairs in only a few steps. Jim somehow felt the incoming zombie, and turned to fire a couple of shots squarely into its chest. However, the zombie didn't even seem to flinch as it lumbered forward, intent on Jim. Seeing this, George took a quick scan of the area at the top of the stairs. An old rusty stove sat along the far side of the stairwell, and there was a space in the railing. He raced over to it, yelling at Jim to move, and threw his weightagainst the metallic casing. With a shaky groan, the stove finally cooperated with his efforts and began to move, scraping and screeching along the floor. The zombie had reached Jim, and it gripped his right leg in its bloodied hands. Jim, face down on the stairs, struggled to plant himself to kick it away. He looked up to see the stove teetering on the edge right above the stairs below, and the sudden desperation gave himenoughincentive to desperatelytwist his body over andkick off the drooling zombie. He backpedaled up the musty stairs, his limbs flailing about. At the moment Jim cleared the lower stairs, George lowered his body into a powerful crouch and summoned all of his strength into one final push, throwing his shoulder into the stove and sending the heavy, non-functioning appliance careening over the edge.

Jim, as he came up the stairs, was able to see the still surging zombie out of the corner of his eye, its outstretched hand actually grasping the banister at the bottom of the stairs to charge up at him. Sudden, desperate panic overtook him, and he stumbled on thethird to last step. In another moment it would be upon him, but just then a large shape came crashing down upon the zombie. The zombie had been walking straight upright, its back almost tilting backwards, so when the massive object landed on it, the zombie's upper body actually folded back on its own legs before being crushed completely. The lower stairs were also completely obliterated, and Jim couldn't help but cry out in joy.

"Oh shiiiiiit! You da man now dawg!" yelled Jim, running over to George, who, despite rubbing his right shoulder gingerly, seemed quite pleased with himself. Jim couldn't help but pat him on the back, fighting the urge to slap him on the shoulder.

"Nice shooting, cowboy," said George, as they ran to join the others. Jim beamed.

---

Cindy couldn't help but stop and look back when she heard the loud crash. Mark and Yoko also both stopped, but she wondered if it was because they were worried over her.

"I'm sure they're fine," Mark assured her. "Those two know how to take care of themselves."

Cindy felt a bit of relief at Mark's words; he would, after all, know their fighting capabilities far better than her. Still, she couldn't help but worry. Were they too far ahead of George and Jim? How would those two know which way they had gone?

Their escape from the tenement building had been simple and uneventful. Yoko had found an old, unused laundry chute on the 4th floor, which had somehow remained sturdy and untouched. More importantly, it had broken just above the second floor, and a great amount of rubble lay beneath it. It wasn't as soft as laundry bags and pillows, but it wasn't as sharp as glass or metal. Mark slid down first, despite Yoko's desire to test it's width before he went. He assured her he was capable of breaking the flimsy aluminum lining, that his getting stuck wouldn't cause a problem.

"This ain't the water park, Yoko…I'm not afraid of breaking anything," he said, sticking his feet down into the dark chute. Cindy was glad Mark was so gung ho; the thought of sliding down a dark tunnel with no idea what waited on the other side…she remained quiet. Mark disappeared into the darkness, only the thudding of his body against the flexible metal hinting at his progress. After a few breathless moments, they heard the signal; three quick light taps on the chute, letting them know he was through and it was clear. Cindy was looking back again when Yoko spoke.

"Cindy, you go next," she said, reaching into her backpack.

"What?" she asked, turning to face her. "Why?"

Yoko was removing a can of spray paint from her backpack, and she popped off its top as she shook it.

"I'm leaving a note for Jim and George to follow us," she said, shaking the can as she began spraying an arrow pointing to the chute's open vent. Cindy nodded and neatly placed her feet into the chute, straightening her skirt and clutching her equipment. Yoko's resourcefulness continued to impress her. With the sound of the can hissing behind her, Cindy slid into the dark.

She came out on the other side to see Mark in his ready position, ducking behind a large chunk of bricks. He motioned to her to be quiet, and nodded his head towards a group of the undead across the street. They were milling about and hadn't seemed too alert about anything. Like most of her regulars before their first couple of drinks. She pushed the thought out of her head as soon as she had it; that life was long behind her. Only their survival mattered now.

---

The zombies seemed content to study the large hole before them; some even stupid enough to fall in. Jim turned to George.

"Maybe we should call the others back," he started, excitedly. "Without those stairs, there's no real way in for those fuckers," he added. George shook his head.

"I imagine they're far ahead of us by now, possibly even outside," he solemnly spoke. "I don't think holing up somewhere is our best option; there are more and more of those things by the minute," he finished, his thoughts with the others.

"Being trapped in here wouldn't be that bad," said Jim, a bit too nonchalantly. "At least we got the ladies to keep us warm, right?" he laughed, jabbing George's side with his elbow. George remembered why he didn't like Jim at that moment. That laugh, almost a sneer. The next second his voice could quiver at the slightest noise. He remembered last night that Cindy figured Jim's "attitude" to be all a front. She knew Jim better than he did, and he trusted Cindy, as well as her assessment of character. She could be a bit too nice for her own good, though. He smiled at the thought of her, and her kindness. He soon realized Jim was speaking again.

"-fense or anything buddy; I see how you two look at each other," Jim rambled. "And Jim Chapman don't never mess with another man's woman, nosirree." George realized Jim wasn't even looking at him as he spoke. "-ther one, that Asian girl? Woohee, I think she got an old hankerin' for the brothers, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"Absolutely, Jim," replied George. "We should get moving, the others might be waiting for us." With Jim still yammering in his ear, they began to move. From below them, the zombies also began to move, actually backtracking through their entry point. The two men took no notice of this as they hurried up the next flight of stairs, other thingson their minds.

---

"I don't know how much longer we can wait," whispered Mark.

Cindy had been waiting for one of the others to say it, but it still struck a blow to her heart. She forced the blood from her face and the rush of anger from her body. She knew her words might be biased, dominated by emotion, but she had to say something. Her word mattered to this group as much as anyone else's, even Mark's. Luckily, she didn't have to say anything.

"I hear something from the vent," said Yoko, from behind them. She held a nail gun in her hand, and aimed it at the torn opening of the chute. Cindy heard it now too, a soft swooshing of movement as something gray came shooting out face first into a pile of dirt.

Covered in grime and soot, George looked like he could almost pass for one of the creatures. He looked so flustered that Cindy had to stifle her laugh, but she imagined that was also part of her joy at seeing him safe and unharmed. She rushed to his side.

"I'm ok," he muttered, before she could ask. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed he was almost…embarrassed from landing face first in the soot. Before she could say something to soothe his wounded ego, they heard a loud cry from above them.

"Yippee kayay, mothafuckas!" screamed Jim as he bounced through the chute and out into the same dirt pile George had tasted just moments earlier.

"Quiet Jim," Mark whispered loudly. But it was too late; the zombies from across the street had heard the commotion, and were now lumbering over to investigate. As Cindy was helping George up, she felt something wet on her hand. Dread in her heart, she looked down at her palm. Blood. George looked at her in disbelief. The zombies were moving faster now, the smell of blood in the air. "MOVE!" yelled Mark, rising from his defensive position, firing a shotgun blast into the first group of incoming zombies, forcing them to stumble back a few steps.

"Oh my god, there are so many of them," said Yoko, her teeth clenched. It seemed as if the zombies were coming from everywhere now. The original group they had watched earlier had been about ten, but now there were at least triple that number, the undead climbing out from the rubble of the building behind them and lurching out from dark alleyways. "Where do we go?" she cried, her voice nearing desperation. She seemed reluctant to fire, and Cindy knew she was probably low on ammo. They couldn't survive a big battle, not now. There was no big bomb to save them this time.

The original plan had been to head for the hospital. George said they could pick up valuable medical supplies there, and that the sewer system underneath the hospital could be their way out of the city. Furthermore, the hospital included its own generator, so electricity wouldn't be a hassle for them like it had been in the other locations they'd tried to hole up in. That idea seemed hopeless now, as the group of zombies blocked that path. In all the mayhem and uncertainty of that moment, Jim did the most unusual thing. He pulled a coin from his side pocket and flipped it high into the air. He caught it in one swift swipe of his hand, and in the same motion, drew the handgun from his belt.

"This way," he said through clenched teeth, as he raised his pistol to take aim.

It was a moment none of them would soon forget. Each and every one of Jim's bullets seemed to magically find their target. He fired off a burst of six quick rounds, and where his bullets flew, zombies fell. He fired in a seemingly blind arc, but Mark could see each of Jim's shots were fired with the utmost precision and understanding of his gun and surroundings. Another volley of bullets, and Jim split the head of the pair of zombies that was nearly upon them. He began to move as he fired, and remarkably, his accuracy didn't suffer in the slightest. But Cindy quickly realized what the others had not; they were headed the wrong way.

She opened her mouth to speak, but felt George's hand clench her arm. She looked at him, puzzled, and he shook his head. Did he know? What could he be thinking? Then she remembered the warm blood on her hand, who it came from, and her concerns were soon elsewhere. And so she ran.

---


	2. The Garage

The Garage

It seemed all of them had known Jim was headed the wrong way. Looking back, Cindy realized that the path to the hospital was impossible; the wall of undead that had arisen from the smell of George's blood was stronger than all their weapons combined. None of them spoke of Jim's sudden burst of leadership, of his remarkable gunmanship in that desperate moment.

"What is that coin, Jim?" asked Yoko, who was now suddenly walking beside him, her thumbs dug under the straps of her sagging backpack. She seemed remarkably young in that moment, almost as if she were a regular teenage girl. It occurred to Cindy, then, that Yoko was in fact a young girl barely out of her teens. Her maturity and thoughtfulness had led Cindy to believe otherwise, but she realized she could not measure all young girls against her own days of youth long past.

"Oh, this?" he said, removing the coin from his pocket again. "When I first started working at the station, there was this fatal train wreck…years back, and the only survivor of that disaster was holding this very coin in her hand when the two trains struck, the fare meant for her young son. Luckily, her son had been stuck late at school that day. Over five hundred people died in that crash…everyone but her," he said, his eyes suddenly distant. "She handed it to me when I helped pull her out of the car. She said the coin had bought her son a second shot at life, and it could maybe do something amazing for me."

"Really?" said Yoko with a sudden awe. "That's—that's amazing, Jim."

Jim burst out laughing. "That sounds cool, huh? Nothing that interesting, though. It's just the first fare I ever collected," he said, still giggling. Yoko's brow furrowed, but then she too began to laugh. From behind them, Mark spoke up.

"Hey…quiet you two," he loudly whispered. "We know what those things respond to; even with Doc's arm wrapped up, it's a good idea to keep the noise down." Yoko only nodded her head in understanding, but when she looked back, Cindy could swear she saw a smile still on Yoko's young face. It suited her.

The gas station before them was typical: one story, one garage, and two rows of three pumps. Nothing fancy or elaborate, but then again, it was just a gas station. It wasn't a lot of space, so all five of them searched the confined area for zombies at once. They were done in a few moments, and they agreed to loot the small building for usable goods, and to set up another plan now that the hospital was a distant possibility. George was soon looking through the chemical cabinet, his face in deep thought. Mark was busy working on a makeshift barricade for the front door, and Yoko and Jim were scouring the rooms for usable goods. Cindy worked on the vending machines in the main office. She was skilled at it by now. A few swift jabs with the rusty crowbar, and the main padlock was off in seconds. From there, it was a matter of stacking and storing the still cool beverage cans.

Her head throbbed; days of sugar and snack foods were good for short bursts of energy, but in the long run, they made her body feel hollow and useless. God, what she'd give for a glass of clean, cool water. Sighing, she got up and passed the drinks around, and was thankful not to receive any complaints. She remembered Alyssa genuinely getting upset at being handed a non-diet cola, and the memory still peeved her. Despite that, Cindy wondered how that other group was faring, and couldn't help but worry some.

George was doing well, it seemed. He had found a few bottles, and was busily mixing chemicals back and forth, even humming while he did so. Cindy remembered him telling her last night that he had been a surgeon. She wondered when the last time he took a chemistry course was, and hoped he didn't end up blowing them all up in a freak mixture.

The sun was at its peak by the time they sat to rest. Yoko was fiddling with an ancient radio that seemed to only emit scratchy static, while Cindy went over the inventory in her backpack. Mark sat by the door, watching through the slits in the heavy barricade and squinting against the sunlight. George was mixing his chemicals in the garage after being banished from the office for the rancid odors emanating from his concoctions.

"Damn Doc, that smells like shit," whined Jim as he leafed through work orders in a dark leather binder. A flash of surprise came over his face.

"What is it, Jim," asked Cindy, coming over to stand across from him as set a can of cola in front of him. Jim looked up at her and grinned, spinning the binder so she too could look at it. The sheet was faded, barely legible, as if it were a carbon copy of some sort. Cindy squinted to see it better. Jim snatched it back before she could study it further.

"It's a work order…for the city tram," he began. "I can't believe I had forgotten about it," he added, shaking his head in disbelief. The others were starting to come over now. Yoko quickly snapped off the antique radio, George set down his jars, and Mark reluctantly stepped away from his guard post by the door.

"Of course, the city tram goes directly out of the city!" exclaimed Cindy, a bit surprised by her own sudden energy. She blushed under the staring eyes of the others. "Must be the sugar," she said meekly, sipping her can of soda and looking away absently. George caught her eye and winked, his own face covered with sweat and grime. She couldn't help but smile back.

"But this work order is for a repair," said Yoko. "And it's dated three days ago…with no sign of the request being completed," she finished, her voice sinking.

"No, not quite," said Jim, and the others all looked at him hopefully. "Look here; the car is only down to a few basic electrical problems," he added, his face in deep thought. "It seems if we just replace the fuse…it might work," he finished. The others let out their collective breath.

"But can you be sure of that?" asked George, looking over Jim's shoulder at the binder.

"Of course, doc," replied Jim. "I _have_ worked in the subway system for quite awhile now, and the electrical systems are pretty much the same. Once we get it going, I'll have no problem driving it, either," he said.

"There are a few things bothering me here," began Mark. Everyone turned to look at him as he spoke. "We don't know the extent of repairs on the tram, where we can get the necessary parts, or if we can get it going at all," he said. Jim opened his mouth to speak, and Mark continued talking. "The tram station itself is a dead end area; we can hole up in there for a short while, but we could be eventually overrun. It's the trip to that station that worries me," he added. "Through the park and by city hall…the heart of the city."

"So what?" asked Jim, suddenly irritated at Mark's points. Mark turned to him with dark, accusing eyes. Jim shrank back, almost cowered, under that unrelenting stare.

"That means the highest concentration of people…or undead," he replied. Silence fell over the group. A voice spoke up from behind them.

"We can do it," George said, a surge of confidence in his voice. "I've mixed enough chemical bombs in the garage to blow up at least three dozen of those bastard undead," he added. There was no smile on his face now, no glimmer in his eyes. Only a morbid understanding that their only option was to kill or be killed. The hush returned, and no one spoke.

"Show me," Mark said finally.

---

They were lined up neatly across the work counter; ten bottles and jars of varying sizes filled with a grayish fluid. Despite the lack of electricity in the garage, the sun was at its highpoint, and light stabbed through the three panes of glass on the main door, so everything was visible in the dingy work area.

"How do they work?" asked Jim. "Do we need fuses?"

"No, that's the beauty of these," George answered. "A simple chemical compound of nitr-" he began to say, before Mark interrupted him.

"So you're saying we can just throw them, and they'll explode on impact?" asked Mark.

"Precisely," George replied. "No fuses to worry about," he said, picking one up. "I made them of varying sizes, figuring we might need bigger payloads."

"Good thinking; we don't know what lies ahead of us," said Mark, an appreciative look on his face. He smiled for the first time in a long time, hefting one of the larger bottles in his hand. The smile spread into a broad grin. "How big of a blast radius are we talking about, doc?"

"The larger bottles, a few yards," answered George. "The smaller ones, about three to four feet."

"Where did you learn this shit?" asked Jim, tossing one of the smaller bottles absentmindedly from hand to hand. He noticed the others beginning to slowly back away, and he stopped, that goofy grin on his face again as he set the bottle down.

"Ah…here and there; you know how it is," George said, slightly embarrassed. It was Cindy's turn to give him a secret wink, and he reddened before flashing her a sheepish smile.

"Let's pack it up and be ready to move within the hour," ordered Mark, as he turned to Jim. "See if you can find that fuse and parts in this shop, Jim. We don't want to have to backtrack here, not if we can avoid it." Jim nodded solemnly.

"Autobots…transform, and roll out!" cried Jim suddenly. His exclamation met with curious stares, Jim began his search for the necessary fuse, grumbling to himself about how modern art went unappreciated and especially that of the Saturday morning cartoon variety. The rest of them wordlessly began their own preparations; they knew the routine by now.

---

They were moving within two hours, burdened with the half dozen fuses they had salvaged from the auto shop. There was no surefire way to test their condition, so they decided to take them all. Each of the survivors carried one, and a bottle of George's explosive in hand. Mark, as usual, took the point, his shotgun at the ready. His weary eyes scanned the wide area before them, and Cindy wondered to herself how much longer he could stay awake on his feet like this. In the 36 hours since the viral outbreak, she hadn't seen him so much as nap. George told her he had seen similar symptoms in war survivors thrust into stressful situations; for Mark, this was his comfort zone to handle the horror of it all. The best thing they could do was watch his back and hope he could lead them to safety.

"I wonder if it's best to move during daylight," asked Yoko aloud to no one in particular, but it was somewhat obvious her question was directed at Mark.

"You said yourself those things didn't rely on vision," he grunted, stepping carefully over a scatter of rubble, his pointed shotgun canvassing the shadowy areas.

"That was an educated guess at best…I need to observe them more," said Yoko. Cindy looked at her, puzzled. What was going on inside Yoko's head?

"It's better that we can see them in the open, during daylight," said George, also looking at Yoko strangely. Cindy looked to him for his thoughts, but he kept his eyes focused on the young girl moving slowly over the debris.

"Yes, but…" Yoko brought her hand to her temple, as if she were in agony.

"Yoko, are you alright?" asked Cindy, stepping over to hold Yoko by her elbow.

"I'm—fine, Cindy…thank you," she said, her face still pained. "But I just thought of something," she said, straining for the words, gasping for breath.

"Maybe we should stop and rest," said Cindy, looking over to Mark. He didn't even turn.

"That's not an option; this area isn't safe," he said, a sternness in his voice. "We have to keep moving." He paused. "We're almost at the park," he added, finally looking back. Cindy opened her mouth to reason with him, but George spoke up.

"He's right," interrupted George. "Let's keep moving." Cindy flashed a look of anger at him; she thought she could count on at least him to be the one person on her side.

"Time…we're running out of time," murmured Yoko.

"What do you mean, Yokes?" asked Jim, coming over to help her walk.

"A viral contamination of this magnitude…the only safeguard, the only fail safe is…" her words drifted off.

"A nuclear strike," said George, sudden horror spreading across his face.

---


	3. City Hall Part 1

---

The realization had hit them all hard. It might very well have been possible that they would never reach the city limits, and if they somehow did, be shot down or turned away by the military. But it had been nearly two full days since the outbreak; why had the government waited this long? Surely the red tape couldn't be slowing them down this much. No doubt they had seen what the virus did, how easily it was passed from one person to another. And even to some animals. Who knew what else? From what the survivors had observed, it was passed from one host through another by bodily fluids, most often blood. Once the next victim was contaminated, they would convert within a few minutes after their death. Other than that…they were running around blindly.

"We can't escape," said Yoko.

They were sitting at the edge of the Raccoon City park, their backside to the edge of the city hall building. For the moment, they were safe, even in the open area.

"We can't escape," she repeated. Jim looked at her, suddenly irritated.

"Shut the fuck up," he said, without anger or passion, just a matter-of-fact tone in his voice. Yoko looked at him, surprised. Jim stood up. "I don't wanna fuckin' hear that we're done! We're not! I ain't goin' down this fuckin' easy; not without a fight!" Jim spoke, his voice growing bolder with each word. Cindy couldn't help but look admiringly at Jim as he quickly paced back and forth, the little guy that was always so nervous and frightened, so pessimistic. Despite it all, he really would fight to the very end. She wanted to say something, something from her cheerleader days, when everything was simple and normal, when everything was warm and safe. The way things were supposed to be. Instead, Mark spoke.

"So what do you suggest?" asked Mark, a note of resignation in his voice. "At most, we got a day and half or so from dusk to reach the city limit, and even then…" his voice trailed off.

"We make the bastards pay!" yelled Jim. "We find out how the fuck all this happened, how it spread, and who's fault it is!"

"It's…Umbrella," said Yoko, finally. Everyone turned to look at her.

"How do you know that, Yoko?" She sat in silence. George grabbed her arm and asked again, harshness in his voice, bordering on anger. Cindy recognized it as frustration, something she hadn't seen in George until then.

"I don't know," she answered. "But I'm sure of it," she added, almost as an afterthought. She didn't seem as sure now as she had when she first made the bold accusation. Somehow though, it all made sense. Umbrella ran the whole damn city; it was the only bureaucracy powerful enough to have kept the government in the dark for this long with such a huge disaster on their hands. Could it be possible? A company that made everyday household goods…responsible for destroying a city, along with nearly everyone in it? No, thought Cindy. That isn't possible. There would be no reason, no sense in it.

Gunfire erupted on the other side of the wall. Not just a burst or two of handgun fire; rapid, automatic gunfire. They all looked at each other, frozen with surprise, before they began to move. Automatic weapons meant police…it meant help. Or at least Cindy hoped. Been doing a lot of that lately, she thought, as they rounded the corner to the front of the building.

More gunfire. And now, screaming. As they reached the main entrance of the doorway, Mark turned to the girls.

"Stay here," he commanded, before looking at the large door. "We don't know what's in there," he added, readying his shotgun.

"I'm not-," Cindy began, before George cut her off.

"Stay back, Cindy…we'll clear out whatever's in there," he said, looking at her with a cool assurance. "Please…just stay back," and then there was a genuine fear in his eyes, as if her being in any kind of danger was what truly caused him fear. She nodded.

"Man, I gotta go in too?" asked Jim, clicking the safety on his pistol. "Fuckin' A, bro," he said, before giving Mark the nod. With Mark leading the way, they burst through the door. A hastily half-built barricade slowed them down some, but with an extra push by the three men, the doors swung inward.

The main entrance hall was beyond gigantic. It had once been a lavishly decorated hall, but now its fine plaster walls were riddled with bullet holes and drenched in blood. Corpses lay spread out across the floor; policemen, women, and a few security guards. Two of the corpses were half buried under scattered pieces of the barricade; it seemed they had been trying to remove it in a hurry, which was rather strange considering the situation. The three men cautiously crept into the room, their eyes scouring everything.

From above them, on the catwalk, a man screamed. Not a death cry, but a battle cry of desperation. Then, more gunfire echoed throughout the huge hall. Over the din of it all, they heard a soft squishing sound. Then, nothing. The silence seemed to hum within the large room.

Mark, never taking his eyes off the catwalk ten yards above them, whispered to Jim and George.

"Move back," he said through clenched teeth.

"What?" Jim asked, a bit too loudly.

"Be qui-," he began to say.

"Oh, shit…!" someone yelled, lost in the abrupt mayhem.

The dark shape blurred over the railing above them before dropping down the thirty feet to land with a soft thud and face them. It was large, impossibly large as it stood on two wiry legs. The flesh was gray, lizard-like, almost scaly. Its eyes were of a cloudy sheen; there was no intelligence behind those eyes, only a cold, clear desire to hunt. The creature didn't bellow or roar as Mark hoped it would, to announce that it had seen them and intended to move in for the kill. Instead, it began to silently bound towards the men with giant strides across the marble floor. Its claws clicked across the surface like a ticking stopwatch, as if counting down the remaining seconds the three men had to live. Mark yelled at the others to scatter.

A loud explosion rang out behind the charging hunter, but it didn't hesitate as it lunged forward. Mark's bomb had just barely missed, but it had knocked the scaly beast off balance. He dodged to his right, but with his great bulk, his speed was no match for the swift monster. He felt a sudden, sharp tear along his left thigh, and needles of pain stabbing along the length of his leg. His large body crashed into a low wooden table, and more pain dug into his right shoulder. He turned to see the monster picking itself up, less than three meters from him, and he began to push himself backwards. His back bumped against that same wooden table; it was more heavyset than he had expected, and it still wouldn't budge. The hunter began its charge again.

This time, though, it crouched much lower to the ground, readying itself for a jump attack. From the other side of the room, Jim began to fire desperately, but only two of his six shots connected with the creature, neither enough to knock it over. The creature leapt up, high into the air and seemed to almost hang there for an eternity. Its shadow fell over Mark, and he knew he would die in the next moment. His eyes focused on the clean curve of its claws, but he could only think of his daughters, their laughter, and his wife, her touch.

Automatic gunfire screamed in his ears; George stood up on the other side of that damned table, and held a behemoth assault rifle, firing it unflinchingly into the monster as it descended towards Mark. The gray flesh seemed to disintegrate; the tumbler bullets ripping into its body relentlessly as the beast howled and fell backwards. And then it was over. Only the echoes of their heavy breathing, the wispy smoke from their gun barrels, and silence of the dead.

"Damn, Doc, you crazy mothafucka! You put Rambo to shame, dawg!" cried Jim, coming over to slap George on the shoulder. George's face was ashen and pale; he noticeably flinched from Jim's touch. "Where you learn to use one of those?" he asked, marveling at it.

"Uh…in college…ROTC," was all George could say. He still seemed to be in shock. But then the doctor in him kicked in. He rushed to Mark's side, setting down the still smoking rifle. "How badly did it get you?" he asked.

"Ahh, not so bad," Mark answered, trying to get up. A spurt of warm liquid sprayed down his leg, and for a moment he could have sworn he had pissed himself in fear. He wasn't that lucky; the spray of blood formed a growing puddle beneath him and he couldn't help but gasp, suddenly lightheaded.

"Oh my," said George, now calm and in control. "Jim, bring the girls in here…it's probably safer in here than out there," he ordered as he looked around the now calm hall. Jim nodded, and ran outside. "Mark…" he began.

"Give it to me straight doc," Mark panted. "I know it's bad; I'm no beginner at death," he said, his teeth gritted. George was taking off his jacket now, tearing at something while his lips moved, wordlessly. Surprisingly, the pain was slowly easing. Mark's vision began to get blurry and the world slipped away into darkness.

---

When he next opened his eyes, George was tying a tourniquet tightly around Mark's upper thigh. Cindy was crouching beside George, and the room was much darker than he remembered it. It seemed that they were in a storage closet of some sort. Mark opened his mouth to speak. Cindy pressed a cold, damp cloth to his forehead, her concerned smile full of warmth and health. In the dim glow of the dusk leaking through the sole window in the cramped room, Mark could have sworn she looked like an angel. The nurses in 'Nam hadn't been this pretty.

"Take it easy Mark," she said. "We're all safe, so no worries."

Mark looked around the room. Where were Jim and Yoko? Cindy took his hand into her own, and kept him from sitting up.

"It's ok," she said, "Jim and Yoko are foraging for supplies off the dea—out in the main hall." She looked relieved at having caught herself from saying her first thought.

Mark felt a sharp pain in his leg now. He grimaced; looking down, he was surprised to see George nearly covered in blood, his arms soaked a dark red. Had he been injured in the attack as well? Or maybe afterwards, while getting him to this shack? Looking again, Mark realized that George was sewing up his leg. He bit down hard, his body wracked with agony. He felt a warm liquid pass through his lips as he groaned, an almost creamy butter taste. Cindy poured more whiskey down his throat, the alcohol dripping down his chin on down his already sticky neck. He closed his eyes, and once again sank into the darkness.

---

Outside in the main hall, Jim moved cautiously from corpse to corpse, making sure that each had died at the claws of the hunter, and was devoid of zombie bites. The room was sweltering hot, and Jim longed to open just one window. Summertime without fans, air conditioning, or an open window…surely that was a vision of hell (not to mention the bloodthirsty monsters and walking undead). But Yoko had insisted on doing so; it made sense, with all the blood around them. Didn't want any zombies sniffing out the bodies, or even worse, another of those leaping freaks. Jim still couldn't believe how quickly it had moved, how it had shrugged off his handgun bullets like they were pebbles. Granted, he had missed with most of his shots, but still…despite the heat, he shivered.

He was glad there had been just one of those things for them to kill. He found another pair of hunter corpses on the upper balcony, punched full of countless bullet holes, oozing their guts all over the expensive oriental carpeting. The three creatures had killed nearly a dozen well-armed men. Eleven, to be exact…and possibly twelve, depending on if Mark would pull through. Of course he would make it though, Jim thought, cursing himself for doubting Mark for even a second. Mark was a stand up brother, the one guy Jim had counted on since the beginning, the one guy who hadn't let him down even once.

Yoko gasped. Jim spun around, his pistol drawn and ready to fire, when saw what she had: an elite soldier of some kind, literally sliced in half. His torso rested by his feet, buckets of blood and entrails surrounding him in a reflective, murky pool of life fluid.

"I really don't want to check that body for items," said Yoko.

"I don't blame you," Jim said. "How much stuff do we have already?"

"Well, we've searched ten bodies so far, and have come up with--" she began, digging through her backpack, "Hmm…about forty handgun rounds, two first aid sprays, a survival knife, two and a half clips for that assault rifle, eighteen shotgun rounds, two flashlights, one combat shotgun…and a blood encrusted radio that none of us know how to use," she finished, going over their found loot.

"Not bad…not bad at all," said Jim, sliding a fresh clip into his handgun. He had at first felt guilty filching ammo for himself, but hey…this was situation where a few bullets could mean the difference between life and death. _His_ life, to be specific. "Looks like our luck is changing for the better," he said, flipping his lucky coin into the air and deftly catching it, his face wearing a broad grin.

---

"How bad is it, George?" asked Cindy, when the two were alone. They stood in the dark marble hallway by the stairs, and she could hear Yoko and Jim moving about above them, talking while foraging for supplies. Mark was still unconscious on the other side of the door behind her.

"It's not good, Cindy," he replied. "That…that thing got his femoral artery pretty bad."

"How important is the fema-femor—that artery?" she asked, too tired to pronounce her words carefully.

"It's important if he wants to live," he said, a note of resignation in his voice. "If I only had better equipment…" he began, a bit wishful.

"I know," she said, soothingly. "But there's nothing we can do about that…is it possible to move him?" she asked.

"It's risky; the stitches I've put in him are tenuous at best," said George, sitting on a hard wooden bench and sighing. "His life is literally hanging by a thread."

"I don't like this; I don't like this at all," said Cindy. She glanced down at George to see him staring at his bloodstained hands intensely. Looking closer, she could see that they were trembling ever so slightly. He caught her looking, and let his hands drop.

"These hands haven't trembled in a long time," was all he could say. She bent down beside him, pushing aside a stray strand of matted hair from his forehead, holding his face for just an extra moment. She smiled at him.

"Let's get you washed up," she said, taking his hand. He could only nod as he stood and followed.

---

Later, Yoko looked over the corpse again; despite the mess of blood and torn clothing, she could make out an insignia with the stitched acronym UBCS. It sounded like something she should know, something she could almost remember. Within the fold of the blood soaked jacket, she found a set of documents. She began to thumb through them quickly. Though it was hazy, it all seemed familiar to her somehow, the lingo, the code numbers, the procedures-

"Hey Yokes, you find something?" Jim called from behind her, breaking her train of thought. She jumped, startled by his sudden voice.

"No, nothing at all," she answered, stealthily sliding the document under her shirt as he approached. She turned to face him.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I figured in a shitty situation like this, we'd be used to it by now," he said, glancing at the mess of fallen soldiers. "Any idea who these guys are? Don't look like cops to me, and they packed some serious hardware."

Yoko was deep in thought as Jim continued talking. She had since learned to zone out his constant rambling; she had noticed that the dead men downstairs were police officers and security personnel, and that the UBCS soldiers were all killed upstairs in the hallway and on the balcony. Looking down the long hall, she realized that the UBCS mercenaries must have entered the building from the rooftop entrance at the far end of the hall. Standard procedure for the Umbrella's Biohazard Countermeasure Squad. (Umbrella paid top dollar for the best soldiers around, and to provide them the best equipment) Something else was bothering her, though, and it wasn't how she somehow knew all this information. The mercenaries had entered from the roof, but ended up cornered here, in the opposite end of this hallway, away from the stairs and any chance of escape. Which meant that the creatures could only have come in…behind them. But how-?

It hit her then, the realization. The roof. The hunters had come in through the roof.

---

The only bathroom they could find with running water was on the third floor by the stairs. George had considered washing up in one of the downstairs toilets, but the look on Cindy's face had been enough to convince him to walk up the few flights to find a working sink.

He stood in front of one now, his shirt opened and wrapped around his waist, the white porcelain sink caked with a soft pink ring around its edge. He shivered for a moment under the cold water, but it also gave him a burst of energy, feeling that crisp bite of the coldness as it washed away the dirt and grime. And the blood; there was too much of that too. He forced his mind to wander, just like his early days in medical school. The blood had bothered him then, until he learned to make his mind drift away.

Hobo showers, his friends had called these in college. Backpacking across Europe, they thought roughing it was washing up in public restrooms without the luxury of showers. Thinking back over these past few days, George realized what it really meant to rough it. He heard a soft knock at the door. Cindy poked her head through the crack.

"Hey, are you decent?" she called. As he began to push his arms through the sleeves of his crusty shirt, she stopped him. "I got a present for you," she said, smiling a childish grin.

"A present? I could use one of those," he said. Reaching from behind her back, she shyly pulled out a fresh white polo shirt. His eyes widened in surprise. "Where did you…?" he asked, dumbfounded with surprise.

"It was in one of the small side offices. I just hope it fits," she said, shaking out the wrinkles. George anxiously pulled off his other crusty shirt and tossed it aside, soaked in two days worth of sweat and filth. He stopped when he realized Cindy was staring at him.

"That scar…" she said, stepping forward. He instinctively looked down, already knowing she meant the scar along his chest, just above his heart. She reached out to touch it, but her hand stopped, mere inches from it. As if she were afraid it would hurt him to touch it. Or perhaps it would hurt her to touch a part of his pain. He turned away and stared at his cloudy reflection in the dusty mirror, wiping away a last bit of dried blood from his body.

"It happened when I was young, barely a child," he said. "The doctors had missed my heart defect when I was born, and it nearly killed me." It was an old story, one he had had to tell every woman he had been with. But somehow, this time, it was different to tell this woman. Sometimes he had told his story as a lie, to make himself seem tougher than he really was. He figured with a situation like the one they were going through, that there was no need for macho posturing. Or was it something else? Something about this young woman made him honest. "It's why I became a doctor, to fix nature's mistakes," he said, "no child should have to bear that pain, nor the worried mothers out there," he finished, a bit wistful. He hadn't thought of his mother in over ten years, god rest her soul. Although he faced the mirror as he spoke, he felt her beside him, her warmth, her compassion.

She stared at him now, not the scar, and he could feel the warmth of her heart stretching across to him, taking a small bit of his painful memory and easing its passage. He felt the softness of her small hand now as she stood behind him, reaching around his torso to lightly touch the hardened lump of flesh that formed his scar. She pressed the side of her head against his shoulder, as she closed her eyes. Her hand gently brushed across the coarse hair of his chest to caress that scar again, and he brought his own weary hand to meet hers. She opened her eyes dreamily, and their eyes met in the reflection of the mirror. He turned his head slightly towards hers, resting his forehead tenderly against her hair and inhaling her sweet scent. It sent a rush of blood to his head, a flood of fragmented memories; flashes of springtime mixed with autumn, falling leaves and blooming flowers. Visions of fireflies dancing against the contrast of the velvet dusk played in the back of his eyes. They held each other tightly, afraid to let go of each other and the moment, as it stretched on, endless but never enough.

---

Yoko suddenly broke out in a run, without word or warning. Jim heard rather than saw her take off, and he rose and began to give chase. She ran now, faster than he had seen her run since the onset of the outbreak, and he wondered to himself if she had finally cracked. It was just a matter of time, and she was just a young woman when it came down to it. She was rounding the corner now and heading up the flight of stairs, her sneakers pattering lightly across the floor. Jim skidded around the corner, grabbing the railing to bound up the stairs after her. Again, she was already turning the corner ahead of him, and all he could see was the back of her shoes.

He rounded the corner and opened his mouth to yell, to call to Cindy and George. Maybe they could help him grab her and calm her down, reassure her that they were alright. Before he could say anything, though, he felt a sharp jab in his gut. He gasped for air, and brought up his gun before he realized it was Yoko. She held a finger over her lips and a stern look in her eye. Jim took the message and kept his mouth shut. She leaned behind an outcropping, and pulled him with her. They both cautiously peered around the corner, Yoko's determined eyes set straight ahead and Jim's nervous eyes looking anywhere and everywhere, wondering what it was exactly they were looking for. And then he saw it: another hunter. He began to curse his luck when he felt Yoko's hand on the side of his face. It was a surprise and it was soft, but then he felt it slowly turn his head to the right, and he saw it. Or rather, he saw _them_. His throatsank into his stomach. _Two_ hunters. For the first time in his life, Jim Chapman could think of absolutely nothing to say. What was there to say? They were dead.

---


	4. City Hall Part 2

Cindy let out a breathless sigh, noncommittal. George turned to her, question in his eyes.

"What's wrong," he asked, her hand still clasped in his own. She let her hand drop and looked away from him.

"Nothing…everything," she said. "I don't know…you'll think I'm crazy." He could only stare at her, a nervous doubt rumbling in his heart.

"Cindy..." he began, but she was speaking again.

"These past few days…such terrible things around us, but…" she started, turning to him. "They've been the best I can remember. But here, now…I really do. And the days…the days don't seem long enough when I realize this. All we do is run here and there, trying to stay alive…but I just wish I could've met you out in the real world somehow. Maybe with time…" her words trailed off. "I…I don't know" she repeated hollowly, under his intense stare.

"The shortest days are the ones we want back most," said George, his eyes suddenly dreamy. "They're the easiest to lose by our end," he added, giving her a distant smile. "Something my wife once said." At his words, Cindy became even more detached. "That is, my ex-wife," he quickly added. She turned to him.

"You still love her," she said simply.

"Part of me…did, but with all that's happened…" he trailed off, turning away.

"What is it," she asked, almost afraid of his answer.

"I thought the love we had was more important than anything else. But looking back at those feelings now…they really weren't. All that really matters, what really counts, is survival…our survival." He paused. "It took this whole disaster for me to see that. If I were to even try to go back to her after all this I…I wouldn't be the man I was; the man she loved and the man who loved her. Do you understand"

"I think so. Out there in the regular, real world, I had my whole routine worked out perfectly. But still…still I felt like I had no reason why. Even though I had my life planned out there, I was really wandering about aimlessly. Waiting for something, almost."

As she spoke, her hand tightly gripped her shoulder, as if the words were tearing at her soul. Even to simply say them, the memory of her prior life seemed so distant, so meaningless.

"All I ever wanted was a family," she continued. "A loving husband, a smiling child…was that too much to ask for? That little bit of happiness?"

"No, it wasn't," he replied. "I'm sure that, in time, you would've had a life like that…maybe even better." He paused. "But Cindy…after all this, I want to remember one thing: you deserve those things," he said, gazing into her azure eyes. "Or perhaps someone," he added, his own eyes growing distant. "There was a time I thought of only my work, of living a routine life with structure, purpose. Maybe I wanted too much. Maybe all I needed was…right in front of me, in my arms," he said, turning to her.

With the last traces of daylight leaking through the cracked window, George reached out to Cindy in the dim darkness. His strong arms wrapped around Cindy's slim waist, they stared into one another's tired eyes and felt the small space between them drift away with the fading dusk. He gazed longingly at her full lips, now slightly parted, coming to meet his own.

Before they could, though, they heard a loud crash behind them. George quickly pushed Cindy behind him, and was relieved to see it was only the rusty air vent that had collapsed onto the hard tile. He was turning to Cindy to tell her it was ok when he heard something else fall from the vent. Cindy's eyes widened in terror, and he knew they were alone no longer. Without hesitation, he shoved her into the corner bathroom stall, and spun to face the monster, alone. And unarmed. He cursed himself for leaving the assault rifle downstairs. He hoped he'd live long enough to regret it.

-

The hunter bellowed a bloodcurdling howl, stretching its arms and claws out their full length. The wingspan of the short and stout creature measured at least seven feet, with a set of steak knife length claws on each monstrous limb. It seemed the monster was a bit stiff from its time in the vent, rotating each joint slowly and methodically. George saw his opening and stepped forward, ducking under its first, slow swipe and throwing his shoulder squarely into the hunter's upper torso. With the momentum of its missed attack and George's tackle, the creature spun backwards, stumbling into the adjacent stall. Its arms flailing wildly, the claws dug harshly into the walls of the stall, tearing into the metal. It roared again, angry and ready to spill blood, struggling to regain its balance.

A loud explosion rang from outside in the hallway, and then a loud gunshot. George looked away for a moment, his eyes desperately searching for a weapon, and when he turned back, he saw Cindy, standing precariously on the toilet of the neighboring stall and leaning over the partition with the fallen hunter. She had her handgun drawn, and she began to fire it one handed into the roof of the creature's skull. Her third shot splattered the brain of the beast through its jaw and onto the clean granite tile. It fell forward on dead legs as she continued to fire her last rounds. The creature's corpse hung by razor claws still dug into the walls, a blank and lifeless expression on its terrible reptilian face as its life matter dribbled down its short throat and obscenely muscled chest.

He looked over at her, now descending carefully from her awkward porcelain stepping stool. He expected her to be terrified, scared out of her wits, maybe even crying, but instead he saw what must have been a mirror for his and all their faces: cold understanding. An awareness that became more and more apparent as they fought each battle for their very lives. This was no game. The survival instinct had kicked in, and for those strong or lucky enough to remain, it had taken over their minds, their bodies.

-

Jim could actually feel his body quaking in his shoes; a cold shiver scuttling along the base of his spine and making his knees buckle weakly. He knew true terror at that moment, seeing those scaly gray bastards prowling the area before him. He figured Yoko would've had a fresh yellow puddle at her shoes, but instead she was quietly reaching into her backpack to remove the combat shotgun. She was sliding the second shell into the chamber when they heard a loud crash in the bathroom next to them. In the otherwise dead silence of the hall, Jim had closed his eyes against the sudden racket, but the hunters hadn't. They began to creep over when their merciless eyes picked up on the two survivors, and they began to accelerate with an almost feline fluidity. The pair of hunters, in full gallop with only a handful of yards between them, began to close the gap. Yoko was bringing up the shotgun before she realized she had yet to cock it. Her eyes widened in fear as she struggled to snap back the steel grip, and she quickly realized she wouldn't be able to do it in time.

From the corner of her eye, a flying gray glass bottle suddenly appeared, slowly arcing over her shoulder and towards the monsters. It looked like a perfect throw, but when the bottle struck the shoulder of the first hunter, it harmlessly bounced off the soft spot in its flesh. Her heart sank at the sight. Jim's luck once again seemed to pull through, though, as the bottle shattered on the marble floor and exploded in a ball of blinding fire. The force of the bomb threw the first hunter up into the air and back, its dead and tattered body spinning and slamming into the hard floor with a satisfying thud. The remaining hunter, stunned by the flash, stood there helplessly as Yoko took the opportunity to calmly pump and set the shotgun. As the beast opened its wide jaws to screech, she unloaded the buckshot cleanly into its gaping mouth. Its lifeless body fell backwards, the upper part of its head now a scattered mess of exposed brain and chipped skull.

Sudden gunfire erupted from the men's room now, and the young pair kicked in the heavy wooden door, their guns at the ready. Cindy and George stood there in the hollow glow of the bathroom, holding each other.

"It's okay," George assured Cindy. She was suddenly distraught from the madness of it all, and George held her now, his hand softly caressing her back. She turned and saw the two standing there, their weapons in hand, and her mind seemed to return.

"We'd better check on Mark," she said, giving one last look to the creature. Its claws still holding into the booths' walls, the monster looked as if it had been crucified. He wasn't a religious man, but George thought it almost fitting that a godless beast that defied creation should die that way.

-


	5. Interlude

The air tasted of ozone; a humid saltiness like dried sweat and dirt, blood and tears. The air was still, deathly silent. Still, the life of the landscape creaked and frolicked in a pervasive and encompassing fog that hung in the air, almost tangible. He couldn't believe he was here again.  
_Not again, gawd please no, not this again._

He pushed through the thick underbrush; coming upon a sudden clearing, he blinked against the glare of the sun. Sunspots flickered on his eyelids. First lesson they taught you in training camp; never look at the sun directly. The jungle was harsh, the elements unforgiving, the enemy ruthless.

It was strange; he was aware what he saw wasn't real, but that did nothing to ease the horrible images flashing before his eyes. The edges of the world began to seem grainy, as if slowly losing their focus like the view through a window in the pounding rain. Soon all he was left with was blurred visions of sharply contrasting colors and movement. It was almost as if he could see the air moving and smell the dirty world around him. The colors were runny and warm, melting into one another in one mass blur of redness. For some odd reason, he thought of runny eggs, the yolk popped and oozing that puss like substance that tasted  
_that tasted so good_. _Like a boil being lanced, dripping lovely delicious red, red flowers like the roses wifey loves so_

And then he stumbled upon it; the dead body of a young girl. It was the first dead body he had ever seen, even in his first week of heavy duty. She was no older than his own daughters back home.  
_But that isn't right, you have no daughters, you barely a man as it is_.

And in the distance, he began to hear voices. Not evil voices telling him to do psychotic things, but the voices of his friends, his fellow survivors. He could hear...Jim, talking excitedly.

_"You know he's going to pull through; this is Mark we're talking about, man."_

_"I'm not getting a pulse. What do you want me to do?"_

_"You're a fucking doctor! Do something!"_

_"He's doing everything he can. Let him work."_

_"That's not enough! Get out of my way, let me try..."_

The voices faded away again, their dim echo reverberating in his mind. _Let me try, let me try, let me..._He began to suddenly feel thirsty, thirstier than he had ever been, ravenous for something liquid to run down his parched throat. The thirst seemed to rack his body with pain; he couldn't think, he couldn't see. He could only…desire. Desire to quench that deep, dark part of himself, howling to be sated.

And so before he knew what he was doing, he set upon the body before him with reckless abandon. It was more satisfying than anything he could recall in his lifetime, coating his bone-dry throat with the syrupy thick blood of the dead girl.

Back in the real world, the thing that had been Mark Wilkins opened chalk white eyes. It smelled fresh flesh before it, and its gaping maw sought it out.Its grisly jaws snapped open, hungrily reaching for its first meal.

-


	6. The Roof

He lay there, dead, as the others stood over his corpse. The white eyes, the gravestone flesh…how was it possible? Jim shook his head, more in denial than disbelief.

"I don't get it. Dude never got bit, right? How'd he turn into one of them," he asked to no one in particular. No one seemed to have an answer.

"It's possible he may have already been infected in another way," suggested Yoko.

"What, you mean like something he ate," asked Cindy. George was inspecting the body closer now, deep in concentration.

"I was thinking more along the lines of his injury from the reptilian monster," answered Yoko. She was hunching over now beside George, the two brains examining the facts. Cindy looked over at Jim, his nervous eyes now still and calm. Or were they just tired? He appeared as if he might fall over at any moment, and she realized how hard it must have been for Jim to see Mark like that, the gaping, still smoking bullet hole in his forehead, brain matter collecting in a congealed pool beneath his head. The hero worship had been obvious from day one. She stepped forward to stand by him, and nearly toppled over on the slippery floor. Jim reacted quickly, reaching out to catch her. His hand brushed up against her breast, and she blushed at the intimate contact. It bothered her, though, that he had the nerve to continue staring down her shirt even after she had regained her footing. But now he was pushing her away, his eyes still on the floor.

"All this blood…Doc, you think it's got something to do with all this blood," Jim asked. George turned around and studied the puddle of dark blood. He dabbed his middle finger into it, rubbing it slowly with his thumb.

"Hmm…I think you might be on to something, Jim," he said. "It's likely that Mark died from this blood loss. We have to consider the possibility that he was already infected."

"Are you saying his death triggered the…ah, zombie symptoms," asked Yoko, who was now also looking at the bloody floor.

"If so, that would mean he was already infected. And that would mean we're all probably…" his words trailed off. There was only silence in the small room.

"But what about all the bodies in the main hall then," asked Cindy. "Wouldn't they be walking around too?"

As if in reply, the door behind her began to suddenly buckle as the newest batch of undead pounded hungrily on the flimsy wood.

"Oh, dear god…" cried George, as the wood began to splinter inwards.

-

They had to move quickly. The small boxes filled with reams of paper and office supplies would do little good as a barricade, so they each rose to their feet, utterly exhausted but well versed in their routines by now. George stood by the door, his hand on the knob as the others stood behind him. First Yoko, with her shotgun at the ready, then Cindy behind her with a knife and handgun in hand. Jim brought up the rear, but even he was far too tired to complain about it. He cast one last look at Mark before turning back to the others. He could grieve later, he thought, pulling his cap down over his eyes.

George threw his considerable bulk into the door, swinging it outward and knocking a the closest zombies backwards. He fired a short burst with his assault rifle in the direction they would go, right towards the stairs. They had decided the barricade by the main hall was still too risky, and so they decided to chance the roof and pray for a fire escape of some sort. At least that steel door wouldn't eventually fold under the dozen or so zombies eager to taste their flesh.

Yoko stepped into the hall, firing a wide spray of buckshot into the zombies that had recovered from the doors sudden out swing. She caught a group of three undead solidly in the chest, ripping open their torsos and exposing shattered ribcages and oozing organs spilling from torn bellies. She heard a sudden, loud shot by her ear, and she cringed at its sharp report. Cindy stood beside her, firing at a zombie that had nearly grabbed her from her blind side. They pushed forward, and Jim fired off short barrages with his own pistol, keeping the half dozen or so zombies at bay.

The door to the roof was solid. Luckily, it had a handle, so there was a strong chance the zombies wouldn't be able to open it. Cindy took no chance; removing a black pin from her hair, she quickly twisted it, unraveling the soft metal and jamming it into the doorknob. She tested the handle once, and it refused to turn. George looked at her, rather impressed by her quick thinking and fast hands.

"You learn to keep doors closed without locks when you have nosy brothers like I did," she said, slamming the door shut as they stepped into the humid summer air.

It was nighttime, but the oppressive heat from the day remained. Still, it was better than that oven of a storage room. From their high vantage point, they could see most of the cityscape. Towers of smoke drifted into the calm night air, midnight black even in the darkness. The fires had worsened apparently, but they were still relatively safe…this time. Cindy thought back to that damned hotel. She had spent a weekend there when she had first moved to the city, and she had hated it even then. Add a mixture of fire and skinless mutant monsters, and it was understandable if she preferred never to spend another minute of her lifetime at the Apple Inn.

The roof was a mish mash of raised vents, fans, and short blocks of flimsy, dented metal. One of the vents was torn open; no doubt the access point for the bathroom hunter. The rest weren't large enough for any creatures to lurk behind, so for the time being they were safe. Cindy shined her flashlight down the dark vent just to be sure. There was nothing there.

Jim was rifling through Yoko's bag now, looking to fill his handgun with ammo. It amazed her how he never seemed to have issues with bullets, but that was just Jim's crazy luck at work, she thought. George stood on the ledge, looking rather regal, surveying the area around them. The groans of the hungry undead could be heard in the distance. And from the other side of the door. The handle jiggled, and Cindy breathed an inaudible sigh of relief as her bobby pin held.

"Oh shit…oops," he said. Jim said oops a lot, it seemed. No one seemed to notice, except Yoko.

"What is it, Jim," she asked nervously.

"Um, I think I, uh, tore the inside of your bag…there was this pocket layer thing, right, and it just came—" he started to explain, holding something in his hand.

"Jim, what is that," asked George, suddenly interested.

"Oh this? It was in the pocket, some kind of folded compart—" he began, but George wasn't listening. He stepped forward, snatching it from Jim's hand.

"This is…" George said, as it slowly dawned upon him. He turned his dark eyes accusingly to Yoko, holding it up so only she could see it.

"What is it," Cindy asked. Everyone was looking at Yoko now. Cindy asked again, this time to Yoko. She only stood there silently, her eyes nervous and uncertain. "George...?" she asked weakly, exhaustion in her voice.

"It's an ID card for Yoko Suzuki," said George, pausing. "An Umbrella keycard."

-

The few moments of silence seemed to last for far too long. They had fought to stay alive in a world decided by seconds, so anything more seemed a breathless infinity. They were all standing now, the three of them on one side, Yoko on the other. Her shoulders sagged so deeply she seemed defeated, beaten. The men stood there unflinchingly, hardness in their eyes, accusation in their hearts.

Cindy stepped forward, putting her arm gently around Yoko, who collapsed into her kind embrace. "Shhh, it's okay, Yoko…it's okay," hushed Cindy, both her arms now around the sobbing young girl.

"We need answers," George said. Whether his words were meant for Cindy or Yoko, they were barely out there before Jim vehemently agreed.

"Hells yeah we need some answers," he said. "What the fuck is going on Yoko," Jim stepped forward aggressively, which was surprising in itself, before George held out his hand to quiet him.

"Give her a chance to explain," George said, his voice surprisingly level. Or was it something else? There seemed to be something different in his expression, something…cold. Heartless. For some reason, Cindy suddenly pictured him as a young student in medical school, relying on a ruthless cunning to get ahead of everyone else. But that could just be her imagination. She hoped it was. She turned back to Yoko.

"Yoko, it's okay. Just tell us what happened," Cindy said soothingly. She was now patting the girl's dark hair, easing her racking sobs.

"I don't know," she wept.

"Fuck that bullshit," shouted Jim, who was now actually hopping up and down, his fists clenched. "Stop holding out on us! Is that how you knew so much before? Just come clean," he yelled. Cindy shot him a look of daggers, and he backed down, unsatisfied and still on edge. Jim looked to George, hoping he would step up and get to the bottom of it all; he knew without a doubt that was what Mark would have done. But George just stood there, detached and aloof as usual, and Jim turned away in frustration.

"I…I really don't know," she repeated. "I can't remember a thing. It comes to me in fragments, but that's it…I'm sorry," she said.

"How do you know what you're sorry about if you don't remember jack shit," Jim burst out. He was pacing again, waving his gun every which way, and Cindy felt a bit nervous. Yoko pulled away from Cindy, anger burning in her face.

"What do you know about it, Jim," she yelled. "I don't even remember my family, my friends! They took _everything_ from me," she screamed, her face crimson with sudden rage. Taken aback, Jim stumbled away, grumbling to himself.

"Who did, honey," asked Cindy, reaching out to her again.

"Those bastards at Umbrella," she said. "They wiped me clean, and I don't even…I don't even know why," she said, her anger subsiding, her voice again overtaken by the tears.

-

They sat on the ledge now, their backs to the falling city. A soft breeze had found its way across the nightscape, but it did little to ease the tension between the four survivors. The men were unsure whether they could trust Yoko or her story, but Cindy had accepted her words as truth, without hesitation. She sat beside Yoko now, gently caressing her back in a rhythmic circular motion while whispering in her ear. George looked at them longingly, his intense eyes cloudy and impenetrable.

"So what you think, doc," asked Jim, his foot jittering about nervously.

"I don't think we have a choice, Jim," he answered, his voice weary.

"The fuck…? Of course we gotta choice, man," Jim whispered loudly through clenched teeth. "We don't gotta go where she says," George turned to him.

"And how much longer do you think we can stay up here? That door won't hold up forever, and we have to consider that those hunter creatures got up here somehow," he said, getting up and dusting off his pants. It occurred to Jim that George's gray slacks had somehow kept their neat crease through all the mayhem. He shook his head in disbelief.

"We think Umbrella is behind this, and we know she worked there, _for them_. And you guys wanna to waltz right into their business? Am I the only one that's not blind to how crazy this shit is?"

"She saved your life, Jim, when Mark…that thing, came after you," George replied. "Doesn't that earn a bit of your trust?" Jim's eyes closed in response, shaking his head a bit, almost reflexively. George wondered if Cindy was right, that Jim had slightly resented Yoko for shooting Mark, even after he had transformed. The truth was, the girl reacted faster than any of the others had; George had hesitated to shoot a person who had just been his patient, and Cindy had always seemed to shy away from killing former survivors who had changed. Jim hadn't even reacted at all other than to try and pull away, his pistol somehow suddenly useless in his hands. It was as if he couldn't pull the trigger on Mark even if his life had depended on it.

"That wasn't—that wasn't Mark," he finally said, his gaze suddenly distant. With that said, he rose to his feet and walked to the opposite ledge, a pensive look on his face. George waited a moment before reluctantly following.

"We have no idea what to expect, but it's not as if she won't be right beside us…she wouldn't dare betray us," he said. "She needs us as much as we need her," he added.

"We don't need someone we can't trust," Jim whispered loudly.

"We need everyone we can get at this point," George said coolly. "I think she's grown quite fond of us…you, especially," he added, nonchalantly, one eye waiting for Jim's reaction.

"Doc…don't feed me that bullshit," Jim said, a bit peeved. "I'm not that easily convinced after being lied to. I know what people think, but I'm no fool when it comes down to it."

"I'm...sorry, Jim," George said. "I didn't mean to insult you." Jim seemed satisfied with the apology, and seemed content to look over the mass of zombies still gathered far below them. A long silence passed before either of them spoke.

"So, um…did she say something to you or Cindy…?"

-


	7. The Streets

* * *

"Why haven't we talked about taking the tram, like we had planned before," Jim asked again.

"The only available path is through that horde of monsters at the main gate; there's no way we can get passed them, especially not with our limited ordinance," replied George. Maybe it was the words he spoke or the haggard look on his face, but Jim thought at that moment that George seemed quite the soldier. A leader, even.

Jim opened his mouth to counter, but thought better of it. Cindy was walking towards them, her eyes carefully averted from theirs.

"Have we decided?" she asked, finally turning her bright eyes towards Jim, who suddenly seemed like he had nothing to say.

"Yes," George answered. "We're going to try for the Umbrella facility."

Cindy smiled brightly at his response, and they began to gather their belongings once again.

The four survivors walked with flashlights now in hand. Despite the risk of moving in the open at night, they were all in agreement that spending the night on an open roof was probably not the best idea. Cindy shivered at the thought of facing another of those pouncing lizard beasts with their long claws and slimy jaws, creeping up on her while she dozed. Descending the city hall building had been happily uneventful, as the zombies had congregated at the main door, still feebly pounding at the large steel doors. They were taking extra precautions this time, moving upwind, wary of the zombies' sense of smell.

Rubble lay scattered across nearly every step of the sidewalks and roads. Crushed cars lay stacked one upon another, broken barricades lay in ruin, and small fires smoldered with the glow of the dusk. Jagged shadows darted and bent around every corner, every alleyway, and the dark spots seemed to stretch just out of eyesight. What lay beyond the soft glow of their flashlights was something none of them wanted to consider, but the frightened imagination was not so easily tucked away.

Jim for once was silent during the trip. He had taken point, the barrel of his wavering gun combing over every dark area before them. He had been upset about their decision, but what troubled him most was his final coin toss before they'd left. Three tails in a row; not a good sign. The last time that had happened to him, he'd lost three weeks salary at a casino. The bitter memory still remained, even if the bumps and bruises at the hands of the casino goons had long faded.

A loud explosion rang out on the next street over. The group ducked into a nearby alleyway, clicking off their flashlights once they were sure the narrow space was void of undead. Huddled in the shadows, they were surrounded by silence, only the sound of occasional ragged breathing. The outside world slowly sunk in: the dull roar of distant fires, the gentle whistle of wind, the hollow moans of undead. And then…something else. A loud, rhythmic thumping, like a large war drum being slowly pounded by something incredibly heavy. Then, coming towards them…the light patter of running feet. No zombie moved that quickly. The group edged forwards, their weapons at the ready as they reached the far end.

Across the narrow space at the alleyway opening, a flash of blue suddenly flew by them in a blinding blur of movement. Jim couldn't believe his eyes: what appeared to be an attractive young woman dressed up for a night on the town had run by in full stride, and she appeared to be armed to the teeth. They heard more of that heavy pounding, getting closer and closer, until they heard the brutal, guttural growl of something far more dangerous than anything they had yet encountered.

"_STAAAAARS_…"

That was all they needed to hear to turn around and run.

* * *

Walking again in the darkness, no one spoke of the incident. Whether it was shame at having left someone or it was the danger of the night, it remained unsaid. Yoko suddenly decided to break the silence.

"Do you guys remember hearing about that mansion disaster a few months back," she asked aloud to no one in particular.

"I can kinda remember hearing about a big explosion in some fancy estate…" said Cindy, racking her mind for the rest of the memory. "Something with the SWAT team?"

"You mean that incident with the STARS team," corrected George.

"Some shit about monsters, yeah," said Jim suddenly. "But no one believed them, right?"

"Looks like they were right, though," said Yoko, her voice distant.

"Well, if this is all one giant fuckin' 'I-told-you-so'…God's got one fucked up sense of humor," Jim mumbled.

"God has nothing to do with this," said George, his face grim.

"Maybe we can use some information from that story," suggested Yoko.

"Those stories came out slanted against everything the STARS team said, though," George said. "I doubt there would be anything of use in them," he added.

"That's true," said Yoko. "But what if we could find their original statements or testimony?"

"You mean what they'd been saying from the beginning," Cindy said.

"Right," she replied. "None of that journalistic, eh…editorializing."

"You mean 'bullshit'," added Jim. They all seemed to nod in silent agreement as they continued to trudge through the dark. The city rag hadn't broken a newsworthy story in over a decade; and the one chance it had, the story was too incredible to believe.

* * *

Cindy was walking beside Yoko, and she couldn't help but study the mysterious young girl from the corner of her eye.

"Yoko…" began Cindy. "How were you able to remember that STARS story from so long ago?"

The young girl turned to her, a bit of mistrust in her tired eyes. The eyes softened though, perhaps at the memory of Cindy's persistent kindness.

"It's kind of strange, Cindy," said Yoko. "But when I heard that huge…thing say 'STARS', something just clicked in my head, and the memory was just there, like it had been waiting for me to finally find it," she finished. "That sounds weird, huh?"

"That sounds so…" Cindy said, searching for the words.

"Awfully fuckin' convenient?" suggested Jim, a few steps ahead.

"Jim!" cried Cindy. "No need to be vulgar," she chastised.

"Jeez, sorry moms," he responded, not even turning around to face them.

"It's ok, Cindy," said Yoko, casting an angry look at Jim's back. "Some people just don't know any better." Cindy half expected the young girl to stick out her tongue at him, but she seemed content to just walk silently.

The night had grown calm. They hadn't encountered a zombie in over two hours, and the heat was finally relenting. Thick clouds remained in the sky, masking the moon and the stars. They stumbled through the heavy darkness, finally arriving at the news building.

The Raccoon City Press was much smaller than its editors would have preferred its readers to believe. It was barely three stories, and its highest circulation ever had topped off at 70,000 copies. Raccoon City wasn't that big of a place, after all. Word of mouth was still the fastest news service; old fashioned gossip the choice of longtime locals. No need to shell out the forty-five cents to hear news everyone already knew, news that was already old by lunchtime.

It had cost them three valuable hours to circle around the city's main block in the dark. The main street by City Hall was still clogged with walking undead and thus utterly impassable. Jim had grumbled for most of the long and slow walk,but though it went against the hopeless cynic in his heart, he held a glimmer of hope that there was something they could use at the news office.


	8. The Free Press Part 1

* * *

The entrance was absent of any barricade, which was rather unexpected. And frightening. An unlocked door could spell trouble. While most panicking citizens wouldn't have thought of the newspaper office as a first choice shelter, circumstances should've forced at least a few into it. The building sat on a main street, after all. They'd found a couple undead by the front door, with small, black holes drilled into their foreheads, but that was little comfort.

The air was surprisingly cool within the small foyer of the building, as if the air conditioning had been running for at least part of the day. But that wasn't possible; the power had been lost in most of the city for over 24 hours. And even if the power had been up, who would be foolish enough to waste it on cooling a newspaper office? They all reached similar conclusions; there was no one in here. The AC unit had probably been set to automatic, and no one had a chance to turn it off in their haste to escape. To be sure, though, the men took the point, their guns cocked and at the ready, quickly checking over every corner of the first floor. The women watched the door, their nervous eyes on the street as the red glow of the emergency lights above them flickered off and on.

The staircase seemed older than the rest of the building, it's creaky wood making Jim and George cringe at each cautious step. From above them, where the stairs turned to the second floor, they heard something. It was a faint, distant sound, almost like clicking. They peered through the glass pane of the door, and seeing no movement, quietly pushed the door open. They heard the sound clearer now, and George could've sworn it was the sound of an old fashioned typewriter. Jim crept ahead, and as he swung around the doorway with his gun poised to fire, a surprised look came over his face. He relaxed for a second before becoming suddenly frightened, and a shot rang out. The plaster just above Jim's head exploded in a small cloud of dust, and he started screaming.

"CALM THE FUCK DOWN, BITCH!" he yelled, throwing his body to the floor. George peeked carefully around the threshold, and was rather surprised to see Alyssa sitting there, a smoking gun in her hand and a stubby cigarette in her mouth. She grinned at them.

"Still alive, hey doc?" she said. George looked at her, confused, as he heard pounding footsteps from the stairwell. He spun around, his assault rifle at his hip, only to see Cindy and Yoko standing at the doorway, worried and out of breath. Jim still lay on the floor, cautiously looking at Alyssa out of one eye, waiting to see if she'd fire again.

"Huh, I didn't think you ever missed," George said, studying the hole in the wall.

"What's going on here," asked Cindy, stepping forward. Seeing George act so casually, she lowered her weapon.

"Ah, Cindy's still kicking too, I see," Alyssa said, rising from her seat and stuffing her gun in the small of her back.

"And little Yoko, too," she said, cooing at the girl, who looked rather put off by Alyssa's behavior. Cindy recognized it right away; it had been part of her on-the-job training, after all.

"Alyssa, are you drunk," Cindy asked, already knowing the answer.

"Lil' bit," she said, looking over the rag tag group. "Where's fatty?"

The group grew somber, and Alyssa knew his fate. She held her tongue for a moment more than usual out of respect.

"I guess those bastards are equal opportunity killers; affirmative action be damned huh," she said. Jim was finally standing now, grinding his teeth in anger at her words. Cindy was ready to jump between them when he surprised her by holding his own tongue. He turned to Yoko as if he had something to say, but thought better of it.

"Seeing as how it's safe here, I'm going to set up a barricade at the front door," he said, his words an open invitation for another to help him. Yoko already had her nose buried in some documents, and Cindy was standing by Alyssa's desk. "Fine, guess I'll do it on my own, then," he added.

"Good thinking, Jim," George said, turning to follow him. "I'll give you a hand," he offered.

"Don't bother," Alyssa called out from behind them. "This building is soundproofed, so those monsters won't even think of coming in here," she said, returning to her seat. "If they could think, that is."

"I'm gonna hit the can, then," Jim said, storming out of the room, eager to get away from Alyssa.

"How did you know they respond to sound," inquired Yoko curiously, setting the file she had been reading back on the desk.

"I'm more than just looks, kiddo," said Alyssa, tapping away at her antique typewriter. "I'm impressed you guys got this far, but there really isn't much to do at this point," she added, bringing a coffee mug to her red lips. Lipstick lined the porcelain rim of the cup, which said "#1 Scoop…of coffee" on it, but Cindy doubted there had ever been coffee in that mug.

"What are you writing, Alyssa," Cindy asked, being careful not to read the page over Alyssa's shoulder. Cindy remembered that time Alyssa had nearly broken a bar patron's jaw for reading something she hadn't yet finished. She hadn't been apologetic afterwards, either.

"My last will and testament," she replied, taking a long sip from her mug, one eye on George, who was now by the window overlooking the street. "What's on your mind, doc?"

"But who's going to read-" Cindy wondered, before Alyssa cut her off.

"It's an article, Cindy," she said. "The computer kept crashing, even with the emergency generator chugging away, so I had to dig up this ancient piece of shit to finish it," she complained, shoving the slide back across. "Even if no one reads it…even if I die before I finish it…" her words trailed off.

"You have to at least try," finished George, turning his sharp eyes to her. Whether it was the booze or his understanding words, Alyssa's face reddened a bit under his intense gaze. She took another pull from her cigarette, stamping it out before pulling out a pack from her jacket pocket. She smiled, offering one to George.

"No, no…I quit years ago," he said, stepping back.

"What have you got to worry about now?" she countered. Her words began to make a lot of sense to George, who reluctantly took one. She brought a lit match to hers before leaning towards him and pressing her lit end against his, their faces mere inches apart. Cindy watched this with a strange feeling; it wasn't as if George was her man, but for Alyssa to act like this, right in front of her…

"I'll take one too," Cindy said, suddenly sticking her hand between the two.

"I didn't know you smoked," said George, a bit surprised.

"Not anymore, but _what have I got to worry about now_," Cindy mockingly mimicked to Alyssa, who only laughed. She tossed Cindy the pack of matches before sitting back down to tap away at her article. Still, she kept one eye on Cindy and George. She watched curiously as George helped her as she struggled with the matchbook, using his own to light hers. So, he liked the damsel in distress bit, she thought to herself. We'll see how long that lasts, she thought.

Cindy took a deep drag of her cigarette, feeling quite content with herself, going so far as to even flash a smug look at Alyssa…just before the smoke hit the soft flesh of her throat and lungs. The sudden burning feeling was too much and she began to choke and cough on this new, painful sensation.

"Haha, this is _soo_ Brady Bunch," Alyssa laughed.

Jim entered the room at that moment to everyone's laughter. He looked at Cindy's beet red face as she coughed violently, George patting her back gently, struggling to stifle his own laughter.

"You guys ain't smoking that chronic shit without me, right," he asked suspiciously.

* * *

The laughter had felt good, even if the cigarette hadn't, Cindy thought to herself later. She was digging through files now, wishing Alyssa had done a better job of organizing the many documents she had pulled for her research. She wondered if the news office was always in such disarray; paper laying everywhere, covering nearly every inch of the floor and desks.

"It's pointless to dig through there, Cin," Alyssa said. "I didn't find anything all that noteworthy in there," she added.

"Just because you didn't find something doesn't mean there's nothing in here," Cindy shot back, bristling at Alyssa shortening her name. She hated that nickname, and had always hated it, even as a kid. She took an armful of files and walked to the far end of the room to sit beside Yoko, who was working on a locked file cabinet. Alyssa had lent the young girl her lock pick set, and she was anxious to practice it. The girl was furiously jiggling the tool, her growing frustration obvious.

"Reeoww," mocked Jim, observing their exchange from across the hall. He and George were going through their artillery, deciding yet again what they could leave behind and what would be valuable once they were back on the deadly streets.

"We can probably leave the flashlights," said George. "We're going to make our final push soon, and it'll be light out by then."

"Fuck that," said Jim. "We could end up in a tunnel or some shit, and I don't wanna be down there in the dark…we should at least have one."

"Ok, so we drop two of them…this radio hasn't picked up a single message since we've had it, either-"

"Hold it," called Alyssa from her seat, now coming over to them. "You schmucks had a radio this whole time," she asked, incredulous.

"It doesn't pick up anything," said Yoko, having given up on the finer art of lock picking and coming over to them. "We've only had a few chances to test it, and all it gets is static."

"You mean you haven't left it on?"

"Of course not; you said yourself how those things respond to sound," Cindy said, eager to make Alyssa look bad. She was still worried at how the hawkish reporter looked at George, like he was something good to eat, diet be damned.

"Well hand it over, then," she said, yanking it from Jim's hand before he could comply. She clicked it on, jacking up the volume, the sharp feedback ringing in all their ears. Ignoring everyone's obvious discomfort, she flipped through the channels in a desperate flurry. "Where's the transmit button," she asked loudly. No one had an answer. "Come on, you mean between the doc, the egghead, and um…the rest, you couldn't figure it out?"

Cindy opened her mouth to say something clever, but she realized she couldn't think of anything to say. She turned away quickly and walked back to her mountain of information. She fumed inside, the way Alyssa could put her down so easily, just because she wasn't as smart, or witty, or wordy, or…something. She felt someone standing beside her, and George's warm hand brushed against her own as he reached for a file folder. She turned to him and was pleased to see his mysterious eyes so close to her own, shining at her as if they were in on some great secret joke, just the two of them. Returning her smile, he went back to reading through the file, sneaking quick glances at her once she did the same. He seemed quietly content just to watch her.

Alyssa's keen eyes took this whole wordless exchange in, and she turned away, pretending to be focused on the crackling radio in her hand. She told herself she didn't care, and surprisingly, there was little doubt of that in her mind. She had thought of George merely as a bon voyage roll in the sack, nothing flowery or romantic about it. He was just the best looking guy around; why not go out with a bang, so to speak? She looked over at Jim and laughed aloud before she could even consider the possibility. He couldn't handle a woman like her; she'd break him in two and have room for seconds, she thought. Then again…

The radio in her hand suddenly jumped to life, the static giving way to a broken, desperate message. It sounded like the voice of a young man, but with all the feedback, it was impossible to tell for sure.

"-one hear me?…platoon…cut off…requesting…help…being…slaughtered…city…no escape…is there any-"

The group stood around Alyssa, staring at the radio and holding their collective breaths, waiting for more, hoping for just something to come from the device. But nothing came. The empty squeal of the static filled the room as the desperate man's last words hung heavily on their minds. No escape. Alyssa finally set the radio down, a determined look on her face. Everyone looked to her, expecting her to make some bold declaration, some plan to save them all.

"I'm going to finish my article," she finally said, moving back to her typewriter. Cindy sighed, wondering how she had ever put even a little hope into Alyssa Ashcroft, ace reporter.

* * *

Jim stared at the radio. He had cleared off the editor's desk in one huge flourish, dumping the mountain of documents into a heap in the corner. And there, in the middle of the table,he carefully placed the radio. It was almost as if he feared anything close to it might interfere with the signal. But as he hoped, the others knew. They knew no one was going to call on that radio again. Still, no one wanted to say it, no one wanted to admit that they truly were alone, even if it was a truth they had all accepted long ago.

"Will you please turn that thing off," said Alyssa, frustrated as she struggled to finish her article. Jim flashed her a dirty look in response. After a few more moments of the stuttering static, she began to repeat her request, before Jim cut her off.

"Someone might call on it. You said yourself, 'we need all the information we can get'," he said, looking at the radio instead of her. Yoko was studying the film she had just developed, pictures of undead that Alyssa had taken with her pocket camera. The smell of developing fluid still hung in the air; a pungent, vinegar odor. Even though she had worked around the smell and the buzz of activity for years, Alyssa was becoming quite annoyed with these new additions to _her_ hideout. Things had looked up with the appearance of the handsome doctor, but otherwise, this group was a total drag. She took a long puff on her cigarette, holding the hot smoke in her throat for a long moment before sharply exhaling it. She looked at Cindy and George sitting together, and she remembered how much she hated to lose.

"Well, the reception is better on the roof; why don't you go play with it up there," she suggested. Jim was halfway out the door before she mumbled: "And if we're lucky, maybe you fall off."

"Alyssa!" cried Yoko, shocked.

"Ah, he can't hear me anyways," she said, swiveling in her chair to face the young girl. "Tell me, Yoko…why is it I get the feeling that Jim doesn't like you very much?"

"Some people just don't get along, I guess," she replied.

"No…that's not it," said Alyssa, chewing on her pen cap. "I know guys like Jim; they'd do anything for a cute girl, especially in a situation where this might be their last chance to get some 'goodbye' action…or in Jim's case, 'hello-first-time' action," she added, smiling at her little put down. She dearly wished he had been there to hear it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Yoko said, turning away as her face reddened. Alyssa rose from her chair and stood close to her, close enough for the young girl to feel even more uncomfortable.

"Young girls your age only blush for two reasons: they're embarrassed because they find out the boy they like likes them back, or…they're lying. Which is it?"

"Tell me, Alyssa…what do you know about this outbreak," Yoko asked, her eyes suddenly distant.

Alyssa sighed, leaning against the desk by Yoko. "I know that there's a player more influential than the US government involved, keeping things quiet here, and I think I know who it is. I'm betting you do, too, little lady."

"What do you mean?" said Yoko, flustering again.

"See, Yoko…now I know which one it is. No mention of a boy, and you're redder than a commie. Talk to me, kid…maybe I can help." Yoko looked at her, wondering if she could trust her, until she realized she had no choice.

"I-I used to work for Umbrella," she said, resignation in her voice. "But that's all I know…really." She turned to Alyssa, expecting doubt and coldness in her eyes, but there was none. She simply nodded, accepting her words.

"I suspected as much," she said, nonchalant. "Their logo is on about 90 of the city, after all. I've also heard they have some extremely top secret stuff going on in their labs, and that they've been known to use rather…questionable methods when it came to 'former' employees." She sat back in her chair, turning back to her work. "Quite frankly, I'm surprised you made it out alive."

"Why do you say that," wondered Yoko.

"Even though Umbrella owns a majority share in our paper, doesn't mean we don't pursue the truth as hard as anyone else," answered Alyssa. "We've had more than a few undercover reporters and such go in…and never come out. Those that do, are either too frightened to talk, or claim to remember nothing at all." She scoffed. "And to think; I used to bitch at those people who I thought were faking their amnesia."

"You believe me?"

"I'm a walking bullshit detector, kid," she said, chewing her pen. She appeared to reconsider something. "Should I not believe you?"

"Well, uh, you should believe me, because it's true."

"So that's the real reason you guys came here, isn't it? You hoped seeing something in our files might jog your memory, huh?"

"Yes, that's why I wanted to come here," the young girl admitted.

"And...?" pressed Alyssa. "Anything?"

"Nothing we can really use right now…" she said, a nervous doubt in her words.

"That's not all, is it? You want your memory back for yourself, not necessarily to help everyone get out of here, right""

"And what if I do? Can't I be selfish once in awhile," she asked, anger flashing across her face.

Alyssa shrugged. "Hey, do as you please. I'm not relying on you or anyone else to stay alive, so no skin off my nose, kid." The reporter turned back to her desk, keeping one wary eye on the confused young girl.

"You know…if the generator were back up, you could access our database to do specific searches," Alyssa suggested. "The 'S' paper drawer only goes up till the mid eighties."

"I was…just looking for something on my family," Yoko admitted. "If I even have one," she added under her breath.

"That's what I figured. The generator is in the basement if you wanna tinker with it," said Alyssa. "I'm pretty useless when it comes to electronics."

"And when it comes down to everything else…?" said Cindy, coming into the room with George at her side.

"Well, then I'm just pretty," she shot back, winking at George. "What have you kids been doing," she asked, again turning back to her work. It seemed she had been stuck on this same paragraph for the last few hours.

"Digging through that Umbrella file cabinet," sighed George. "Didn't find a damn thing, either."

"Well, I guess I'll take a look at that generator then," said Yoko, wondering if anyone even heard her.

"I'll give you a hand, Yoko," offered George. She couldn't be sure, but Yoko suspected that George didn't like being in the same room with Alyssa and Cindy. Like he was a piece of meat between two hungry wolves. He didn't look back as he followed her out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind them.

* * *


	9. The Free Press Part 2

* * *

Cindy walked over to the desk across from Alyssa's, leaning against the wood top, watching the young reporter work.

"So…what were you and Yoko talking about," Cindy asked, trying to be nonchalant, her fingers stroking an ornate picture frame, the image of a perfect family within the photograph. Her touch seemed to linger on the faces of the children for just an extra moment.

"Leave the snooping to the professionals, Cin," suggested Alyssa, one hawkish eye on Cindy.

"It's a simple question, Alyssa," Cindy said.

"Just because it comes from a simple mind doesn't make it a simple question."

"You really think that you're so much better than me, don't you?"

"I thought that much was obvious."

"What, just because I wait tables to pay my bills? For all your big talk, you're in the same boat as the rest of us, miss hot shot reporter," shot back Cindy, blood rushing to her face. Alyssa laughed, infuriating her even more.

"You think that's why I don't like you? Because of your _job_? Get real, Cindy. In a situation like this, I don't give a shit if you turned tricks for quarters."

"Then what's your problem?"

"You really want to know? People like you…_women_ like you…you can't do a damn thing for yourself. All you can do is fill this role men expect us to; subservient, weak, needy. You're too concerned about being cute and feminine to spend a few minutes just being…just being _human_. You set the rest of us so far back we have to work twice as hard to earn respect from men, menI shouldn't have to give a damn about. But you get away with it because you flash that stupid smile and you think that's the way it's supposed to be."

"You think you know me, just because you came into J's bar a few times a week? Why don't you ask yourself why you're so concerned about getting respect from men you really don't give a damn about. Tell me, who's really playing into a role here?"

"I used to watch you, every once in awhile at the bar. You couldn't do a damn thing on your own; it was always 'Will, can you do this; Will, can you do that'. God, it made me sick. Just because that lovesick fool wanted to be your tool…you didn't have to abuse the poor schmuck."

Cindy thought over the words, slowly coming to a realization. "You think it's my fault Will died, don't you?"

"Honestly? Probably not; but I think your helpless routine certainly didn't help increase his chances at survival."

Cindy fumed. "You were there. I didn't see you jump to his rescue."

"True enough. But then…why should I risk my life for _your_ tool? Doesn't make much sense, now does it?"

"Is there anyone you'd risk your life for? Anyone you care about besides yourself?"

"You got me there, Cindy. I'm a selfish bitch, all right. But that's _me_. One hundred percent me. You…you're all an act, a show to impress the guys to make your life easier. I see right through you. Cheerleader, right? How many of your friends' boyfriends did you steal, huh?"

"I had a feeling this was about George," Cindy said. "It must eat you up inside that he prefers me over you, doesn't it?"

"It's nothing that petty," scoffed Alyssa, tossing her hair back. "I just don't like you."

* * *

The generator room was surprisingly newer than the rest of the building, as if it had been recently refinished. Still, it was as full of darkness and shadows as it was new equipment. Feeling partly relieved that it wasn't the boiler room in her nightmares, Yoko walked confidently through the steel door. The beam of George's flashlight cut a swath through the gloom, darting back and forth quickly. He seemed unusually nervous. 

"Didn't you check this area already," Yoko asked, not bothering to whisper.

"Yeah, Jim and I gave it a once over earlier…still, no harm in being cautious," he replied, pausing. "Although, to be honest…I'm more nervous about Cindy and Alyssa being together in the same room," he reluctantly admitted. Yoko laughed but felt guilty for it immediately.

"I got the feeling you didn't want to be in there," she noted. "But you'd be much more useful down here, anyway," she added, trying to make him feel better. He gave her a half smile and she realized he didn't need her encouragement; he was doing just fine as it was. Probably one of the reasons why the other girls went crazy for him, she thought.

The main backup generator sat at the far end of the basement. Yoko was somewhat disappointed there wasn't an elaborately huge printing press down there like she had pictured; but then again, such an operation wasted valuable space. The Raccoon City Press was nothing if not carefully budgeted. Still, all these advancements…she wondered if Umbrella's majority share had something to do with the new equipment. It appeared, however, as if they backup generator was a bit older than the rest of the hardware, almost an antique. George set his flashlight atop a stack of blank paper, which spilled across the floor. He cursed, handing Yoko the other light. He knelt by the main circuit unit, and she turned her light over his shoulder as he withdrew his Swiss army knife. They began to work.

* * *


	10. The Free Press' Last Edition

* * *

The fire, like most fires, began small. From a tiny spark on the spilled stack of blank newsprint, the glowing flint burst into a ball of fire spreading out across the room in every direction. The smell (had anyone been present to notice it) was actually quite pleasant at first, in a thinly sweet sort of way. It was only when the thin smoke grew thick, darkening into blackness, that any casual observer would soon begin to struggle for breath, even to choke on the acrid fumes. 

Sadly, no observer was present. The generator chugged away, powering the small news office with valuable electricity, masking the crackling sound of paper snapping and growing fire.

Yoko sat in a small side office only two floors up, tapping furiously at a keyboard as George watched. The room was dark, the only light the soft glow of the monitor on the young girl's face. Her face was a slideshow of emotions; from initial joy and curiosity to frustration, from despair to anger.

"What is it," he asked, hearing her breath out a disappointed sigh. It was one of several in the past few minutes.

"This system server is a joke," she replied, rubbing her eyes. "I haven't used one this old since I was in elementary school," she added grumpily. It was odd, but this was the most expression George had seen in the young girl since the disaster began. From above, he could still hear the arguing voices of Cindy and Alyssa. Apparently now was the time for expressing such emotions. He wondered if it was a female thing; he dimly recalled reading a study about women in close proximity for extended periods and the stress it created. He remembered his failed marriage and smiled wryly, wishing Jim were near to share his thoughts and insight on the subject.

"Shit," she swore, slamming down on the keyboard. "This is hopeless!"

"Let me take a crack at it," George offered. Yoko's eye arched upwards in a curious way, and he could almost read her thoughts. _If I can't do it, what hope do you have, old man? Computers have changed over the last couple decades._ He had to admit, part of him wondered the same thing. "Hopelessly out of date operating systems are my specialty," he said, sitting down.

Yoko looked on, impressed by his careful familiarity with the system. "I thought you were a doctor," she said. "You're a computer whiz to boot?"

"I like to tell myself that, but it's just that a lot of the hospitals I've worked at used incredibly old computer systems for record keeping and such," he replied.

"Even now? I thought that the hospital was completely modernized," she said absently, watching him quickly navigate the batch files.

"It is…was, thanks to a generous contribution from Umbrella," he said, slowing down on the keyboard, his thoughts wandering. "All the good they've done for the city…how could they have done this to us," he asked, watching Yoko's face in her reflection on the monitor. Her tired face hardened for a brief moment; he wondered if it was her frustration with the computer or a memory of her days with Umbrella.

"It's always been easier and cheaper to kill than save, I guess," she finally answered. The menu page dropped, and the server logon screen popped up. "We need a login," she said, turning to George. He didn't move.

"I'm not sure it's safe up there for me," he wondered aloud. "Mutant zombies, monsters…those I can handle. Cindy and Alyssa…I'm not so sure," he added, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, you can't shoot them…can you?" she suggested. He looked at her, surprised, before he laughed, realizing she did have a sense of humor after all. She joined in the laughter, drowning out the still bickering of the women upstairs, before the ear-splitting wail of the fire alarm interrupted them. Their nervous eyes met, and they bolted from the room, heading to meet the others upstairs.

* * *

"I don't know who you are, thinking you know me, but…" Cindy began, before Alyssa interrupted her with a raised finger. 

"Do you smell something," she asked, looking around.

"What, is this your way of telling me that I'm full of crap? Or that I smell now? Well, listen here, you! Not all of us have been able to sit in an _air conditioned_ office while others have been running all over the city, fighting off monsters and getting covered in dirt and blood, trying to _help_ people!" Cindy yelled, her voice building to a head. She was nearly screaming, and for the life of her, couldn't remember the last time she had done so.

"Nice speech, blondie, but I'm smelling smoke," Alyssa said, rising from her chair. She quickly grabbed her handgun, checking the chamber and tucking it into her pants. She turned to move, but seemed to remember something. She opened her middle drawer, and from the back of it, pulled out a dusty black device that looked like a large remote control.

"What's that," Cindy asked, a bit calmer now. A sudden flash of bright blue electricity shot between the tips at the end of the device, and Alyssa grinned, tucking the stun gun into her pocket.

"It's what we journalists refer to as a 'press pass'," she chuckled. "As in, 'this gets me where I wanna go when I know I shouldn't be there'," she added.

Cindy looked at Alyssa in a curious way, thinking of something. "What's with this 'blondie' stuff? You're blonde too," she pointed out.

"Wow, nothing gets past you Cindy, huh? I hear Captain Obvious is looking for a sidekick, maybe you can make the next tryout," Alyssa replied. She opened her mouth to say more, but the sudden screech of the fire alarm masked her words. Both women covered their ears, their faces pained by the high-pitched squeal. They headed for the stairs, bumping into George and Yoko, both out of breath.

"Where's Jim," asked Cindy, looking around, her voice worried.

"He's on the roof, I think," Yoko answered. They heard quick footsteps above them between the pulsing rings of the fire alarm, and Jim turned the corner meekly, half expecting Alyssa to shoot at him again.

"Yo, the place is on fire," he yelled over the alarm.

"No shit," said Alyssa, rolling her eyes. How did she ever get stuck with this hopeless bunch?

"Yeah, but the alarm is ringing outside too," Jim yelled louder. "Them undead fuckers are crawling out of the woodworks to get in here now!"

"Where's the fire coming from," asked George, before seeing the smoke rising from the bottom of the stairs. "What other escape routes are there besides the front door, Alyssa?"

"Wait," cried Yoko. "Alyssa, I need to login to your database first!" The others turned to her in shocked disbelief.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me," whined Jim. "This place is going up in smoke and you wanna play with the computer? Let's just get the fuck out of here!"

"I'm inclined to agree," said George. "Yoko, we can find evidence on Umbrella elsewhere. No need to risk our lives now," he added.

"But…" her voice trailed off, the loud crackle of burning wood snapping her from her thoughts. Her eyes met Alyssa's, and the two seemed to nod in unison.

"You guys, take that window over there," Alyssa said, pointing to the window behind them. "There's a dumpster to land in. Don't worry, mostly paper," she grinned, seeing the look on Cindy's face. "We'll catch up with you!"

"Wait, what do you mean," cried Cindy. "We have to go now!"

"Careful Cindy," said Alyssa. "You almost sound concerned for me. I figure it's about time I did something for someone else," she added, folding up her article and sliding it into Cindy's hand. "Get this out there," she said, her eyes somber and serious. "The people have a right to know." It might've been the choking smoke, or the distorted haze of the fire, but it appeared to Cindy for a moment as if Alyssa's eyes were wet with tears.

* * *


	11. Yoko finds a clue and Alyssa finds a way

"This is no good, man…no good at all," Jim said, shaking his head. He stood at the metal door sealing them in the narrow alleyway, his anxious eyes peering out at the mass of zombies milling about the front entrance. The wail of the fire alarm allowed them to speak freely, but Cindy wondered if it was worth it. Her ears would be buzzing for a month after this, she thought. At least the fall into the dumpster wasn't as bad as she had expected.

"I know it looks bad, but we've seen worse," encouraged Cindy. But for the first time, she doubted her own words. Had her own optimism finally run dry?

"Yeah, and Yoko's got all the prime hardware," Jim whined. "We don't stand a chance with that bunch out there," he said, thumbing towards the restless mob beyond the gate.

"For the moment we're safe and that's enough," said George, his voice showing signs of weariness as he fell into a pile of garbage bags. Cindy looked at him with concern. Jim appeared disappointed for a moment before turning back to look through the gate at the crowd of undead.

The trio was lost in their own thoughts. Had one of them looked up at that moment, they might have seen through the black smoke something crawling furtively into the window.

* * *

The smoke from the fire was beginning to fill every room, seeping under the door of the office Alyssa and Yoko hid in. The thin smoke was hard on the lungs, but bearable. The young girl grimaced once again, bringing to her face the wet towel she had prepared earlier with her torn sleeve and a dying water fountain. Alyssa wrapped her own wet mask around her head with a safety pin, the damp towel already beginning to dry. The logon sound dinged, and the two women huddled around the computer terminal, the Search function highlighted. 

"What should we try?" asked Alyssa.

"Suzuki, try the name 'Suzuki'," urged Yoko. Alyssa's fingers flew across the keyboard, punching in the name and beginning the search. After long moments of chugging, a list of hits appeared on the screen, numbering in thehundreds.

"Suzuki motorports, Suzuki console electronics…dammit, we should narrow down the search," bemoaned the anxious girl. Alyssa turned to her as the lights above them flickered.

"No time, kiddo. The power's gonna go any minute now. Let's just pick something that looks good...and let's do it fast, alright?"

As the thousands of words scrolled across the screen in a flurry, Yoko dimly recalled her days in college, learning speed reading to facilitate research. Of course, the research! She stopped Alyssa when she saw the words 'research' and 'Suzuki' linked, and opened the first article she saw.

The article was a short one, something about a research grant, but it featured a large photograph of a scientific research team. The dozen faces all meshed into one with the grainy picture quality and fuzzy monitor, so she quickly read through the names in the caption: John…Greg…William…Rebecca…nothing familiar.

"Who are those people?" asked Alyssa, pointing to the background of the photo. Yoko squinted, looking past the head researchers, and saw what looked like a blurry man talking to another man. Something was off though, even in the distance she could make out the dark eyes of one of the men. How could she not, as impossibly large and black they were…no wait, those weren't eyes, butsunglasses. She was sure of it. Why would a scientist wear sunglasses in a research facility?

The screen flickered once before turning black, the click of static cracking once before the entire terminal abruptly shut down. Alyssa glanced at Yoko, expecting to see a devastated look on the girl's face. Instead, she saw a confused and thoughtful look, as if she were still struggling to process what she had just seen, unaware that the image on the screen had disappeared along with any hope of seeing it again. She rose from her seat, grabbing Yoko and pulling her out the door and into the smoke-filled hallway. Alyssa was somewhat thankful she had spent so many late nights in the news office, because she could barely see a dozen feet in front of her with the limited visibility from the fire. She squeezed Yoko's hand tighter, making sure the still-pensive girl stayed close.

What surprised her more than anything about the fire was the noise; Hollywood had led her to expect a quiet tranquility to the inferno (or maybe it was just a lack of a musical score?), but all she could hear was the pounding roar of the blaze. Through it all, she somehow still heard it, that unnatural sound of long labored breathing, the throaty exhale of something not quite human. She looked back to see Yoko still wearing her makeshift mask, her head ducked low seemingly with no trouble breathing. Through the thick haze of the swirling heat waves and thick smoke, Alyssa saw it behind them clinging toa wall. It looked almost human, stark naked and sleekly muscular, thin about its waist. But the similarities stopped there; the head was dog-like with a partially exposed brain and angular snout with invisible eyes. It craned that awful looking head now, side to side, seemingly confused by the activity of the fire, before finally dropping to the floor with a soft thud. Hearing the noise, Yoko looked back, and reflexively screamed, the sight of a skinless drooling monster on all fours somehow still surprising. The creature turned towards them now, screeching before charging at them.

* * *

In the din of the fire and the haze of swirling smoke, Alyssa thought the creature lurching towards them a hound from hell. Hellhound or not, though, she wasn't the type to go down quietly. Pulling Yoko behind her, she raised her Beretta carefully, firing a sure flying bullet at the creature's exposed head. Before that first bullet connected, her second round had already left the barrel, traveling just as true. To her dismay, the well-placed bullets richoceted harmlessly off of the hardened clear membrane covering the creature's brain. It wasn't a completely meaningless effort, though, as the monster recoiled, buying them enough time to escape to the stairs. 

The smoke wasn't nearly as dense in the stairway, courtesy of the semi-functional ventilation system. Alyssa was thankful for something finally going their way as they ran across the short hallway, skidding to a stop when she turned the corner. Clinging upside down above them, another creature blocked their escape route, the window above the alleyway dumpster. Its blind eyes turned quickly back and forth, as if trying to smell its prey. Turning back, Alyssa could see the stunned monster recovering and steadily making its way towards them. The only way to go was down the burning stairs to the main lobby. Alyssa began to pull Yoko down the stairs, but by this time the fire had raged its battle for too long against the old building. Wooden rafters from the ceiling began to fall, flaming L-shaped chunks of wood raining down before them.

"Go," Alyssa whispered through her teeth as she chambered another round into her handgun. Yoko looked at her, stunned, but recognized the situation. She ran down the stairs, diving and crawling underneath the one small space available inthe burning rubble. She feltthe singe of fire against her back and legs, but she pushed forward on all fours with a wordless desperation before finally rolling down the rest of the stairs and into the deserted lobby.

"Come on!" yelled the young girl as she stumbled to her feet. But Alyssa didn't move, her eyes flipping from one approaching monster to the other, her gun poised and ready to fire. "Alyssa!"

"Hit the fire shutter switch," ordered Alyssa. "It's above the vending machine!"

Yoko hastily turned to the smashed vending machine, probably looted earlier by Cindy from the looks of the lock. But she dismissed the thought, hurriedly pushing a small step stool towards it so she could gain a better look at the control system.

"I can't!" cried Yoko. "You'll be stuckup there!" But Alyssa couldn't hear her, the sound of her handgun screaming hot lead upstairs.

"JUST FUCKING DO IT!" Alyssa yelled angrily, turning to meet Yoko's tearful eyes for a brief moment. "Do it, kid," the reporter mouthed, her words silent. Yoko closed her damp eyes, resigning herself to the hopelessness of the situation. She pressed the button, bringing down the emergency shutter.

* * *

The two skinless freaks hung just above her on the ceiling, howling at her in pain as her bullets found their mark, one round after another leaving smoking holes in their flesh. Alyssa heard the dry click of her handgun and made up her mind in the same moment. Without turning, she crouched downwards and pushed backwards and away from them with all her considerable leg strength. From the top step, she guessed the flight of stairs to be about thirteen or so steps, most of which were afire. She imagined the oddest sensation of flight, her body hanging impossibly high above the ground, instead inhaling the piercing taste of smoke and feeling the sear of the inferno around her as she spun downwards. 

Her left hip slammed into scorching charred wood, her body bruising and burning in the same instant. Luckily, she felt no bones snap as she tumbled down the last few steps, but she was sure she would feel it for quite a long time (if she even made it out of here alive). In her whirlwind of sights, she could see one of the creatures hanging in midair as it leapt after her, the fire shutter closing down on her just as she rolled underneath its steel jaws. Alyssa felt the hot breath of the creature just behind her, and heard the soft squish of the shutter closing shut on the creature's slimy neck. The spray of arterial blood would bother most women, but Alyssa hoped the creature was alive just long enough to feel the pain as it gurgled its last breath.

Alyssa felt the coolness of the imitation marble floor on her cheek as she lay in the lobby, and knew she had somehow made it. Her whole body aching, she wondered if it was worth it. Yoko climbed down from her makeshift stool, elated at Alyssa's survival. As the young girl opened her mouth to speak, her expression turned to shock.

"You trying to kill me, kid," joked Alyssa, her face wincing as she shakily got to her feet. Yoko ran to her, and began slapping her all over with her towel. "Hey, what are you doing, are you crazy?" howled Alyssa. "That hurts!" Yoko grabbed her and looked her directly in the eye.

"You're on fire, Alyssa," the girl said calmly, before swatting at the patches of burning cloth again. Alyssa looked at her clothes, or what remained of them, and realized Yoko was right. She immediately dropped to the floor, rolling her body back and forth, extinguishing the last flames. She lay there for a moment, exhausted and aching, trying to yet again catch her breath. The air was much better now that the shutter was down, she thought. As Yoko crouched over her, Alyssa turned away, looking at the creature's exposed and still jittering head with a satisfied look on her own pained face. Yoko followed her eyes and cringed at the sight before her own scientific curiosity got the better of her and she began to cautiously approach it.

Alyssa felt the dryness of her throat now, and tried to yell a warning to the inquisitive girl. Journalistic curiosity had fueled her career, but there were always limits. This was one of them. She began to crawl towards Yoko, her hand raised insilentdesperation.

"No, stay...away," she croaked hoarsely. Yoko turned back to look at her, but was still moving towards the head as she shook her head. The mouth of the beast suddenly dropped open, and an impossibly long strip of flesh, which only could have been its tongue, lashed towards the surprised young girl with blazing speed.

Alyssa had twisted her body the moment she saw the creature's mouth open, swinging her foot to kick out Yoko's feet from under her. She hit the area behind the girl's knees, instantly bringing her down into a heap as the steel-like tongue passed by overhead. But luck was not completely on their side as the tongue tore into the soft canvas material of Yoko's backpack, spilling their ammunition and supplies across the floor. Yoko's hands sought out and grasped the handle of her shotgun as she fell, thrusting it against her hip as she fired a flailing shot from her crouched position into the beast's face. Most of the buckshot lodged into the metal shutter, but enough found its way into the dog-like skull that the flickering tongue fell lifelessly to the ground. She rose to her feet, stepping on the long appendage in curiosity and rolling the blue-ish black thing back and forth, marvelling at its length and thickness.

"Like they say, it's not about size, but how they use it," said Alyssa, her voice still hoarse. "Not me, though...I like 'em big," she added, winking at the young girl. Yoko handed her a bottle of water, and she accepted it eagerly, ripping off the top and taking long pulls of the tepid water before voilently coughing it up onto the floor. Yoko patted her on the back as a red-faced Alyssa took smaller sips. Again, she coughed badly, the taste of smoke still in her mouth.

"You might have smoke inhalation," Yoko said. "Try inhaling through your nose, holding it in your lungs, and breathing it out of your mouth," she suggested, shouldering Alyssa into a seated position.

"Sure thing, doc," Alyssa said, her entire body aching badly. "Gotta say though, I feel more cooked on the outside than the inside," she tiredly joked.

"We'll need George to treat these burns," the young girl said as she pressed moistened towels against her burnt flesh, Alyssa grinding her teeth against the pain.

"Does it really matter at this point," the reporter asked. She looked over at their only exit, the main door, as a horde of zombies lazily pounded at it. "It's just a matter of time for us, really...although I'm glad the alarm stopped at least," she said, her voice falling as she lost consciousness.

Yoko said nothing, the enormity of their situation snapping her to her feet. She collected the spilled supplies on the floor, quickly reloading her own shotgun and Alyssa's pistol. She was grateful she'd had the foresight to wrap George's last chemical bomb in a towel before storing it away. She laid that aside with the rest of the ammo they would be able to carry in their hands, but she wondered how far Alyssa would get in her condition. Yoko noted the stillness of the siren, glad to have some quiet to gather her thoughts. Grabbing the last canister of First Aid Spray, she looked over the directions, hoping it was as simple as George had made it look. Shaking the can, she popped the cap off and lightly sprayed it along the worst burns on Alyssa's legs and side. Most of them appeared to be no worse than second degree burns, but she knew from her days in the lab that those were the most painful type, as the nerve endings still remained intact.

Alyssa groaned in response to the cooling aerosol spray, her blistered skin bubbling under the white oxidizing agent. The soft and tender flesh of her injuries seemed to harden under the wispy white spray, her bleeding wounds slowing and the inflammation subsiding. Yoko wiped away the dribble of excess medicine, rubbing it gently onto other damaged areas. It seemed to relax Alyssa, so Yoko tucked her rolled up jacket behind her head and continued to prioritize their supplies.

She stuffed her Umbrella ID card into her back pocket, certain they would need it if they ever made it to the facility. Even though she knew little to nothing about knives, she tucked the survival knife into its sheath and strapped it to her pants, the shaft of hard leather poking uncomfortably into her right thigh. She filled her pockets with the few remaining shotgun shells, hoping she'd be able to reach them in time if necessary. Looking sadly at her torn knapsack, she felt a certain nostalgic connection to it. She wondered if someone important had given it to her; it was definitely old enough to retain some value. Ignoring the feeling, she ripped the bag into pieces, searching for another hidden compartment. Having forgotten about that little detail, it was possible there was something else of use in it. But she found nothing. Frustrated, she tossed the remains aside.

"Yeah, that color didn't suit you at all," said Alyssa, her eyes half open. She returned Yoko's smile with her own tired grin. "How long have I been out?"

"About half an hour," Yoko replied, looking over her shoulder. "The glass on that door is tougher than it looks," she said thoughtfully, wondering if Alyssa was mistaken earlier. Maybe they could hold out longer...

"I told you before, this whole building is soundproofed. That glass is a stronger than most...but it won't last forever," she said. Looking at the mutant tongue laying across the floor, she added, "Especially if there's more of those tongue licker freaks."

"Can you stand," the young girl asked, her eyes showing nervous concern.

"Don't worry, kid, I wouldn't strand you here even if I couldn't," answered Alyssa as she got to her feet. "We just gotta find the others and get out of here," she said, laughing to herself. "Yeah, it's just that easy too..."

"How do we find the others, though?"

"Leave that to me," replied Alyssa, limping to the far wall. Before her, on the wall, sat a thin black panel, almost like a painting. But as she pulled a latch and pushed it to the side, Yoko realized it was a small window.

"Hey, boys and girls," Alyssa whispered through the window into the alleyway.

* * *

"Oh shit!" Jim cried at the sudden sound of Alyssa's voice behind them. George leapt from his bed of trashbags instantly, Cindy quickly turning from the gate as well. 

"I didn't even see that window there," commented Cindy, a broad smile spreading across her face. She ran to the window, peering intently through it and smiling down at Yoko. "Are you both--?"

"We're both ok, Cindy," Alyssa said, flattered byher genuine concern.

"Damn, you're really going for the April O'Neil look I see, huh," said Jim, his eyes grazing over what little remained of her clothes. Alyssa opened her mouth to retort, but realized she had no idea if it was an insult or compliment. Judging by the grin on his face, it was probably the latter.

"Those burns need to be treated," George muttered from behind them. Even in the shadows, she could see his dark eyes examining her intently, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was the doctor or the man looking over her exposed skin.

"Don't worry, doc...your apprentice took good care of me," Alyssa assured him, throwing her arm over Yoko's shoulder as the girl blushed at the rare praise.

"That's good to hear," said Cindy, her voice growing with energy. "We should get moving sooner rather than later, though," she added brightly.

"There is one thing you should know," began Yoko. "My backpack ripped, so we're only going to be able to take what we can carry ourselves."

"How the fuck does your backpack get ripped like that," asked Jim, his gaze passed them and settling on the remains of the tattered bookbag. Yoko shrugged.

"Monsters," replied Alyssa, herself shrugging. She pushed the assault rifle clip through to George and a couple handfuls of handgun ammo to Cindy. Jim stuck his hand out, but all she had to give him was the last flashlight.

"You give them bullets but me a fucking flashlight ," Jim whined in disbelief. "Typical."

"This isn't enough to make a stand here," George said from behind the group, examing his one extra clip of ammunition. "We counted about thirty undead by the front door."

"Leave that to me," said Alyssa, looking down at the anxious Yoko. "I mean, leave that to us."

"What do you have planned?"

"Oh, you'll see...just be ready to bust through that gate, and keep your ears open for instructions."

Alyssa limped over to the front door now, Yoko looking curiously at her companion, who was suddenly reinvigorated with energy despite her physical injuries.

"Here's the plan kid," she began, as a hungry zombie threw itself against the door, the gaping sores on its face dripping pus down the glass. "Lovely," said Alyssa, her eyes never leaving the door. "Anyways, here's what we do..."

* * *

They were as ready as they would ever be. The main door was slowly giving way, the window pane cracking slightly down the middle. Yoko triple checked her supplies one last time, pushing her fatigue to the back of her mind. Alyssa's hand strayed to her pocket, the touch of her zip disk comforting her, giving her strength. On that disk was everything she'd experienced in the past three months, and all the information she had on the outbreak. It was enough tomake some noise, but only if she got out of there. 

"I still can't believe you have one of those and didn't use it earlier,"Yoko said suddenly.

"A good journalist never gives away the best stuff in the beginning," shot back Alyssa.

"What are you talking about? The very first sentence of a news story gives everything; that's why they call it a 'lead'," replied Yoko, tucking the last bit of cloth into her ears.

"Oh yeah, you're right...screw it, I was never good at those anyways," Alyssa said, shaking her head. With a slight nod to signal the others, she brought the butt of her handgun against the corner of the glass, cracking it and forcing a small opening. The shiftless zombies responded to the crash, beginning to shamble over.

Alyssa grinned, pulling the pin of the flashbang she had filched from a dead SWAT team member earlier in the day. Sliding it through the opening she had created, her and Yoko ducked behind the thick wooden doors.

The loud crack of the flash grenade could be heard for dozens of blocks, even with the city being the warzone it was. Despite the stuffed cloth in their ears and the soundproofed doors, the muffled sound wave rattled their ears. The two stood up, seeing the zombies stunned and off balance, but they were still blocking the doors.

"Get behind the counter," instructed Yoko. Alyssa looked at her doubtfully, hoping she didn't think her shotgun could move the half dozen undead keeping them from opening the doors. Instead, the young girl wordlessly picked up a large bottle filled with a viscous gray substance, hefting it and feeling its weight. Alyssa opened her mouth to say something, but figured time was of the essence. She ducked behind the oak counter, hearing George's assault rifle firing one careful round after another. He was conserving his bullets justlike he said he would. She just hoped he was as good with a rifle as he was with a scalpel.

She felt this explosion down into her bones, the blast of force sending a shockwave that jarred her teeth. She felt Yoko's hand tugging at her, and she blindly followed her through the smoke and splintered wood chips that was once a heavy set of doors. Her left leg felt incredibly stiff now, and she felt herself slowing. George and the others were storming out from their own dead end, Jim's gun blazing (a bit needlessly, she thought, as most of the zombies were still confused) and Cindy running straight for her. Still, the sheer sight of Jim running up to every zombie before him and blasting it in the face point blank was almost worth it.

"Suck it, bitch!" he would yell after each successful kill, leering over the fallen.

"Alyssa, we gotta move!" Cindy yelled, ducking under the reporter's arm to shoulder her up. Wrapping her right arm around her, Cindy began to hustle the injured Alyssa along.

Manuvering through the mass was harder than she would've expected. Most of the undead were out of it thanks to the flashbang and explosion, but many were new arrivals looking for a hot meal. One had to be able to move quickly in any direction and make snap judgments to make it through.

"There's too many!" squealed Jim, sliding a fresh clip into his handgun.

"He's right," George agreed. "We can't make it any further this way!"

"What do we do then," asked Cindy, pulling Alyssa suddenly to the left as a zombie lunged at them. More and more of the undead were beginning to recover now, turning their hungry attention to the survivors.

"There," Alyssa pointed weakly at a short dark building a half block down the street. Her strength from earlier was nearly gone now, but the constant movement and the encouragement of Cindy kept her semi-conscious.

Jim sprinted down the sidewalk, yelling at the others to pick up the pace. Ducking into the alcove of the entrance, he readied his pistol to cover the others. George reached it next, pressing the stock of the assault rifle into his shoulder and aiming carefully. Yoko stayed close to the other women, her shotgun blasting away at anything that moved towards them. What was once an immensely overweight man stumbled in their direction, shrugging off her last shotgun round and falling upon her as she struggled helplessly against it. The small girl fell back, holding the shotgun across her chest against the much heavier monster as its ravenous jaws snapped open and moved for her throat. Cindy grabbed for her handgun, fumbling with her left hand, as Alyssa broke away from Cindy's support and drew her charged stun gun, the flashing voltage arcing directly into the zombie's head. At first the zombie didn't seem to react, but as Alyssa dug the glowing prods fiercely into its flesh, the zombies' eyes bulged grotesquely before bursting, everything within the zombie'sskull exploded as if under an immense pressure. Brain matter shot out from its' ears, the rest oozing through eyeless sockets. Yoko pushed the utterly deadcreature aside, getting up to shoulder the weakened Alyssa and pushing forwards.

"I'm out of ammo, Cindy…cover us!" yelled Yoko over her shoulder. She dragged Alyssa as hard as she could, but she herself felt drained from her desperate struggle with the obese zombie. Cindy was able to this time draw her handgun with her right hand, and began to fire at the group of undead closing in on them. The rattle of George's automatic rifle dropped a few more, as Jim's sure shots popped a few heads. But seeing George slide his last rifle magazine into place, she knew they wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.

Reaching the alcove, Yoko threw her body into the door only to bounce off an unyielding resistance. The realization hit her like a punch in the stomach.

"They're locked," she wailed, pushing fruitlessly against the doors. The others looked at her in disbelief, but there was no changing this fact as the hordes of zombies slowly closed in on the cornered survivors.

* * *


	12. Out of the frying pan

--

"Back up, I'm gonna shoot off the lock!" yelled Jim. But before he could turn around to begin firing, George was already rebuffing his idea.

"Bullets aren't breaking that lock…they'll just ricochet back at us!"

"Well, what the fuck then? I'm not going down because of a locked door at a fuckin' gym!"

"Alyssa can pick the lock," suggested Cindy. But the reporter hung limply on Yoko's shoulder, unable to respond with even her trademark wit. Yoko turned to her, and realized what she had to do. She fumbled through Alyssa's pockets, finally drawing out the small toolkit.

"Give me a minute," yelled Yoko, cracking opening the case. She looked over the four pick heads, her hand wavering indecisively over them. "God, I can't do this," moaned the girl under her breath, feeling hot tears well up in her eyes. If they all died here, it'd be her fault. Alyssa wouldn't have been badly hurt if not for her desire to use the computer, and they could've made it out earlier. Thinking over what Alyssa would do, she decided some action was better than no action. And so she grabbed the P shaped head and began to nervously slide it into the lock when she felt a soft hand on her own. Without a word, Alyssa waved Yoko's pick away, selecting the S pick and slipping it noiselessly into the lock. She began to fidget with the tool, twisting it and pulling on it gently. Perspiration poured down her forehead, her bangs caked in blood and sweat as she gritted her teeth in concentration.

"Sometime today, ladies…" urged George. Now wielding an empty rifle defensively, he ducked under a lunging zombie and threw it back with a shove from his makeshift club. Alyssa struggled with the pick, fighting the resistance of the inner cylinder. Yoko took a moment to load a shell of buckshot into her shotgun, ready to shoot off the lock if necessary. Ricochet or not, it was better than being eaten alive.

"Come on you bitches!" screamed Jim, but Yoko was unsure if he was referring to her and Alyssa, or the pair of undead he had just dispatched with his last bullets. He was frantically waving the flashlight back and forth now, blindly clubbing at zombies and surprisingly knocking them back with his panicked flurry.

"Yoko...?" began Cindy, her boundless optimism beginning to run dry. She turned back to give them a worried look, unaware of the zombie shambling towards her from the darkness, outstretched hands eager to grab her.

"Cindy, look out!" cried George, shoving a zombie back with a hard push from his shoulder. George looked desperately to Jim, but he was suddenly gravely winded from his swinging fury, and unable to move. George shoved him aside, hurrying over to protect Cindy. She was mere inches from his outstretched hand when the zombie grabbed her from behind, pulling her back and towards its waiting mouth.

--

Her shocked eyes met George's for just a moment; a raw terror and a wave of sadness in them. But her fright spurned her to action, and she fought to struggle from its iron grip, just barely able to duck away from its bite, twisting her body and throwing the zombie off balance as it tripped over her. Reaching into her pocket, she drew out a small device that resembled a remote control. Stark white electricty suddenly shot from its tips, and George realized then it was Alyssa's stun gun that she was ramming into the crotch of the creature.

Just as the zombie's flesh began to simmer, Alyssa's pick lifted the last divet in the lock's chamber, the lock finally clicking open. Yoko shoved the door open, calling out to the others to follow. Jim was diving through the door before she even finished her sentence, and she turned to see George pulling Cindy behind him as the door swung shut. She leaned over to lock the door, and felt the doors cave inwards, the huge mass of undead sensing their meal ticket slip away and making one last desperate rush to get it back. George hurried to help her, throwing his own tired body against the door and placing his rifle into the door handles in an attempt to jam them shut. The doors seesawed back and forth, nearly giving way, before Cindy simply reached up and twisted the heavy deadbolt as the door heaved into place. Everyone looked at her in quiet amazement as the doors stopped moving, the heavy steel deadbolt holding its own against even all that weight.

"Are you ok," asked George, hurrying over to her, his hands carefully checking her neck and shoulders for bite marks. Brushing her hair aside, he found her muscles surprisingly relaxed, and she couldn't help but smile at his gentle touch.

"I'm fine, George," said Cindy, shyly pushing his lingering hands aside, her face still flushed. "But Alyssa..."

"Of course, Alyssa," he said, moving quickly to their fallen companion. She was laying across a floor mat, but she didn't seem as bad as they thought, her eyes actually open and alert.

"You're awake," George said, shocked.

"The smell of cooking zombie balls tends to force one awake," she said, grinning at Cindy. "Glad you found some use for my zapper."

"That was some messed up shit," Jim said suddenly from behind them, shaking his head. He was reloading his handgun with loose bullets from his pockets before moving on to refill his empty clips. "Ain't no man deserve to go out like that; live, dead, or undead."

"Is anyone else injured?" Yoko interrupted, cocking her reloaded shotgun. She was glad everyone was alive, but they were still in an unfamiliar area...one bathed in shadows and darkness. If this experience had taught her anything, it was better to be ready for the worse.

"Me and George will take the upstairs," offered Jim, still eyeing Cindy with a wary nervousness. He clicked his flashlight on, glad to see it withstood the whipping he had given with it earlier. The light danced along the gym's first floor, a wide open area of scattered universal weight machines and treadmills. This was the high tech end, the fancy new equipment meant to draw in new members and showcase the beautiful people in the fitness club to the people on the street only a few feet below. A staircase with a landing bisected the room and lead to the second floor, a hallway by its right leading downstairs. "We'll meet back down here in five...got it?"

The women nodded, sure that the wide open first floor held no surprises. The two women helped Alyssa to her feet, still cringing at the tenderness of her burns.

"We need to get some cold water on those burns," suggested Cindy. If she remembered correctly from her short lived membership here, there was a locker room through that side hallway.

"How come George didn't recommend that," asked Yoko, slightly skeptical of Cindy's recommendation.

"Doctors never sweat the small stuff; it's usually up to the nurses to do the little things," she answered, throwing Alyssa's arm over her shoulder and pulling her up. "At least in my day..."

"You were a nurse?"

"Well, _student_ nurse for a little while, but paying tuition got to be too much, so...well, you know how it is...things happen," she began, her voice suddenly wistful. "Dammit, I should've gotten some bullets from Jim," she said angrily, looking over her own empty handgun in frustration.

"Take mine," offered Alyssa, her normally hard eyes suddenly understanding.

* * *


	13. A conversation with Jim

--

Jim and George slowly searched the gloomy upstairs, weapons in hand and ready to strike at every moving shadow as the flashlight prowledalong every dark corner. Walking through the aerobics fitness area, Jim still couldn't let it go.

"I mean, right in the fuckin' nuts, right? Like even if that thing survived, he couldn't find a zombie bitch someday and have zombie babies or nothing!"

"That's not quite how they reproduce, Jim..."

"I know, but it gets you thinking, right? Like I shoot 'em in the balls by accident all the time and shit, but I don't purposely go for them...that's just--that's just wrong man. Come on, you know it too!"

"It seems to me like pain isn't exactly a problem for them, so it is probably best to go for the brain..."

"Yeah, right! Anyways, doc...they something off with her. You can _definitely_ have Cindy now..."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nah, I saw how you was touching her, 'checking her for wounds', and shit. It's cool, man...hell, it'd be nice to get some before we die, right? That really makes you think, doc...if one of us were to swing our bat in a zombie dugout, do you think we'd get infected, like, with a rubber even?"

"Jim...?"

"Just wondering, you know. Like scientific curiosity and all. Just on a primal level and shit."

"...Indeed."

"What, you gonna pretend like you ain't never thought of that? Shee-it man, these zombies used to be women, and some of 'em used to be _hot_ women. Hot women who'd turn brothers like me down all the time!"

"And that's changed how, exactly?"

"Now they _all_ after me man! It's like evolution, doc. Survival of the fittest, right? These bitches want to populate, copulate, so they come after me, just like Chuck Darwin used to talk about."

George stopped in his tracks, the table leg he carried as a weapon dropping to his side. Somehow, Jim had actually slipped something of scientific interest into his otherwise senseless rambling. These creatures were driven by the most base instincts, to consume and reproduce. Amazingly, they were able to do both at the same time with little regard to their environment. They truly were amazing creatures, at least in the realm of science. Fighting for his very survival for all these days had kept this realization from him. Lost in his thoughts, he realized Jim was still talking.

"--there's a higher percentage risk puttin' it in they ass? I mean, that's how AIDS started right, a gay guy stuck it up a monkey's ass, got infected, and now zombies are trying to eat us."

"Are you somehow equating homosexuality to this viral outbreak that's wiped outan entire city?"

"No man, I ain't like that...haven't you been listening to me at all?"

Without waiting for an answer, he began his theory from the very beginning, George somewhat hoping to find an undead to disrupt Jim's long winded theory.

* * *


	14. The locker room

--

The locker room was damp and reeking of sweat, the clingy stale smell of bodies and feet. The dark area was actually well lit by a car burning just outside the window; the flickering fires cast an eerie glow throughout the dim room as the women lay Alyssa atop a hard wooden bench. Yoko tucked her balled up jacket under her head. Cindy, as she had promised earlier, would search the locker room. It wasn't a large area, only four columns of lockers running parallel to one another, and a bookend pair on opposite ends.

Cindy combed up and down each row, her flashlight flipping side to side as she passed. Then she checked the showers and bathroom stalls, both devoid of anything living, dead, or undead.

"It looks clear," she called from the showers, testing one of the knobs. "The water's running too," she said as she came back. Alyssa was sitting up now, seemingly none the worse for wear. She began to remove what little remained of her pants suit.

"Cindy, even the seediest peep shows charge at least a quarter...," she said to Cindy, who realized she had been staring.

"I--I'll go get some clean towels," fumbled Cindy, her face reddening. She turned, expecting to see Yoko just as embarassed, but the girl was already at the far end of the locker room, testing Alyssa's lock pick on a worn padlock.

"She can't remember her own combination," Yoko said, rolling her eyes. "It's a good thing she knows how to pick locks."

"I don't even carry a key ring thanks to my skills," she joked from the other side. "Besides, you could use the practice, kiddo."

"I'll do your locker next," Yoko said, as she left to find the women's locker room further down the hall. "Will you be ok in here by yourself?"

"I'll be fine," Alyssa yelled over the locker. "Remember, locker four oh nine."

Cindy hurriedly exited the locker room with the girl, continuing her search of the downstairs and beginning her search for clean towels.

Alyssa tossed the last bit of her burnt clothing onto the pile, walking slowly into the dark confines of the shower. Standing in the dark stillness of the room, she felt a shiver along her bare back. The room was dark, deathly quiet except for the sound of water which somehow seemed distant to her. But she soon dismissed the thought and stepped gingerly into the icy stream of water.

The cold water felt heavenly on her burns, and as the running water cleared away the bleach-white chemicals from the first aid spray, she realized they weren't as bad as she had feared. Scarring would be minimal; she'd have to thank Yoko later. She ducked her head directly under the nozzle, the icy water flowing through her short hair and washing away the blood and grime from the days' adventures. The cold bite of the water felt great on her face, and she suddenly felt alive again, more alive than she had in days. Over the rush of water, she heard something moving from the locker room outside. She turned off the water, hoping it was Cindy coming back with the towels.

"Great timing, Cin," she said, her voice echoing in the silence. "Cindy?"

But she heard nothing, only the drip of the dying shower faucet. With only darkness draped over her, she felt fully aware of her nudity, droplets of frigid water running down her shivering skin as she huddled against her body for warmth. Crossing her arms over her exposed breasts, she shivered so hard that it pained the muscles of her back. A quiet but anxious hope in the back of her mind prayed that it was George, maybe even Jim, brought in by the curious sound of running water. But they would've answered her calls...unless they'd left, realizing it was just her cleaning her wounds. Nah, Jim would've stuck around for the show, especially the way he was looking at her earlier, she thought. No, she _knew_. In that long moment of silence, she knew for certain she wasn't alone in that dark room.

Another sound, this one closer. Something dragging along slowly, so very slowly. Holding tightly onto her breath, she strained her ears to listen for the sound. But she heard nothing; instead she saw it through the murky darkness; a zombie struggling towards her, its eyes glowing in anticipation. Without a weapon in hand or even clothes on her back, cornered, she did the only thing a sensible modern career woman could do: she screamed.

* * *


	15. Exploring the gym

--

Jim was in the fourth tangent of his conspiracy theory, somehow on the topic of the Sega Master System and the NES, when George noticed the slightly cracked door towards the end of the hallway. George signaled for Jim to be quiet, but Jim ignored him as usual, ranting about the decline of top loaders at the hands of side loaders somehow heralding the fall of civilization.

"It's like they want 'em to break, you know, testing to see how far we go. And then what do we do, we oblige 'em! Those corporate fatcats get rich because we won't take a stand when we know we're right...we know, and they know we know...but still nothing happens!"

He was beginning to draw the similarities to Umbrella when the zombie stumbled from the closet to fall upon him. Dressed in a tank top, gym shorts, and oversized hightops, it was previously a gym member of some sort, large and muscular. Jim struggled vainly against it, squealing his high pitched screech, slapping at it in an almost playful manner, the light of his flashlight flipping across the ceiling and walls as he tried to free his gun hand for a clean shot.

George wound up the table leg in his hands, pulling it back over his shoulder before swinging it hard towards the creature's head. The hard edge of the corner caught the monster's temple, caving in its soft flesh so violently that its right eyeball popped out, dangling freely at the end of a long purple blue vein that oozed a pasty fluid down the peeling skin of its pallid face. The stunned zombie recoiled, giving the frightened Jim a chance to break free from its hungry embrace. Ducking under its flailing arms, Jim jammed his handgun at the inner part of the zombies' knee, firing one round into it, then the other, destroying the support joints of the top heavy creature. It fell forward on its jelly knees, and Jim leapt up, grabbing the short pony tail of the guido zombie. Pulling it's twisting head backwards, he rammed the barrel of his 9 mm into its open mouth and fired a shot that sent brown brain matter spraying across the walls and floor. Standing over the fallen zombie, Jim took the opportunity to crush its now fully disconnected eyeball, grinding it deliberately under his sneaker.

"Jim...? Are you ok," George asked, suddenly worried by Jim's actions, which could only fall into the realm of blind, berserker rage.

"That fuck--fucking bully rejected my gym membership...said I wasn't good enough for his here meat market," he said, storming off without giving it another glance.

George went to follow, casting one last worried look at the creature, when they both froze at the sound of a woman's shrill scream from downstairs.

"Alyssa!" cried George, hurrying after Jim as they sprinted for the stairs.

--

Cindy heard what she thought was a scream from the muffled confines of the basement. She turned, unsure exactly where it had come from, or who's cry it even was. It was high pitched, feminine, frightened...in other words, it could just as easily have been Jim as Yoko or Alyssa.

She decided no one in the group could have gotten ahead of her, so she turned back, hoping she wasn't leaving someone else she didn't know about to a dreadful fate. Her flashlight stuttered, the light dimming, and she smacked it with the butt of her handgun to get the last bit from the batteries. Great; in addition to being down to two bullets, her flashlight was nearly dead. The thought of darkness all around her without a weapon was too frighening for her to even consider. Maybe she'd save one bullet for herself...but she pushed that thought aside as she moved to the stairs.

Another scream shook her from her reverie, and she sprinted up the metal stairs of the basement, the clanking of her shoes disturbing her thoughts. At least she was sure now; that was definitely from the locker rooms. Alyssa or Yoko needed her. She stood at the hallway intersection, two directions to go. But which way?

Her thoughts raced. She hadn't heard a gunshot, so it couldn't be Yoko, who'd had her shotgun. But then, what if she'd been taken unawares? Picking at a lock, her rifle tucked away...then again, there wouldn't have been a second scream if the small girl had been surprised. Alyssa wasn't the type to scream for help, though, either. Much less twice.

What felt like an eternity passed, frozen between choices with the life of someone hanging in the balance. Biting her lip, Cindy finally turned to her left and ran as fast as she could.

--

* * *

_Author's note: I know this chapter is a bit short and the segment really doesn't go anywhere new, but I've had this sitting for awhile on my desktop. I hope putting it out there will prompt me to write out the rest of it; I've got some good ideas I'm trying to flesh out at the moment. It's funny, I'm currently writing another fanfic in installments too, and it's really made me realize some of the consistent pitfalls of my writing. I realize the Outbreak story has stalled a bit from its original promise, but it's one of the stories where I had the ending already written (almost a year ago, actually)...it's just a matter of getting to that point. I might fast forward to the conclusion, and use the survivor(s) to go in a completely different direction, but we'll see. As always, thanks for reading and keep an eye out for new work. _


	16. The story so far: plot summary

Here's a little update, for you as much for me. Frankly, after putting this on the back burner for so long, I'd forgotten a bit of the plot. Please forgive the sloppy, factual-typewriting, and the next installment will be up sometime next week. Thanks for reading!

_**The story so far…**_

Cindy Lennox awakens in a long deserted tenement building. One other person is in the room with her, a handsome doctor who had occasionally come into the bar Cindy worked at as a waitress. Dr. George Hamilton is busy working with some chemicals.

The two are disrupted by the appearance of Jim Chapman, who spills the chemicals George was working on. Cindy quickly intervenes before angry words can be spoken. The three head down to meet with the other two survivors. One, a young college student named Yoko Suzuki, and Mark Wilkens, a security guard and war veteran. Mark has assumed the role of leader for the group. Jim looks up to him with a great amount of respect.

The group discusses possible paths out of the city. Compassionate Cindy asks about the other survivors from the bar, the ones who had gone off on their own. Bob, Mark's best friend and coworker, turned and was killed by Mark's own hand. Will, the bartender who'd had a crush on Cindy, died at the hands of a zombie. David King, a quiet and mysterious plumber, vanished on his own in the confusion. Kevin Ryman took the rest of the survivors and decided he was best equipped to lead them. It is clear Cindy doesn't think very highly of Kevin's competence. Alyssa Ashcroft, a reporter for the Raccoon City Free Press, decides to go with him rather than follow Mark and the others.

Jim outlines the subway system, but is afraid animals might be infected too. George suggests the hospital, because of its backup generator and medical supplies. Mark and the others decide this is the best course of action and begin to prepare.

Cindy is sitting on the rooftop, alone, speculating on the direness of their situation. George soon joins her, and the too share a laugh when they hint at their old lives. Meeting back downstairs with the others, Yoko enters from another part of the rooftop. She reveals that the zombies don't seem to respond to visual stimulus. Mark, enraged by her unsolicited experimentation, yells loudly, which attracts a group of zombies that break through the barricade downstairs. The group hears gunfire from Jim down below. George tells the group to move ahead, which Cindy does reluctantly.

Jim demonstrates an amazing degree of accuracy with his handgun, but fires many needless rounds. A zombie gains the upper hand on him on the stairs, and George shoves a heavy appliance off the ledge onto the creature, destroying the entire staircase. The two rush to meet back up with the others, despite Jim's suggestion they stay in the tenement with the stairs destroyed.

Mark has led Cindy and Yoko to the back of the building where they hide from the roving groups of zombies in the streets. Despite it being daytime, the zombies seem to fail to see the trio. They are suddenly joined by George and Jim; Jim makes a loud racket coming down, but more importantly, George cuts himself, the scent of his blood luring over the increasing zombie hordes. The group find themselves trapped at the base, when Jim astonishingly takes a coin from his pocket, and tosses it into the air. Catching it, Jim draws his handgun and begins to fire blindly. Somehow, however, every single one of his bullets find their mark, thinning the pack considerably. He leads them away from the thickest area, which happens to be the path to the hospital.

Running blindly, the group ends up at a local garage (the one from RE3). Yoko and Jim begin to talk, and Jim reveals how he got his special coin in the first place. Finding the garage deserted, the group sets to their tasks. George begins to remix his chemicals, while Cindy collects supplies and Yoko tries to fix the broken communications equipment. Mark sets up a temporary barricade at the door while Jim rummages through the desk.

Jim suddenly exclaims when he finds a work order for a repair on the city tram (again, from RE3). If it's operational, they can all take it out of the city. However, there's no assurance it has been fixed, and that area is a dead end where they could all be trapped.

Nonetheless, the group decides to chance it, accompanied by George's freshly made chemical bombs. Moving through the darkness, Cindy begins to feel concern for the others, particularly Mark, who hasn't slept since the whole thing began two days earlier. But Yoko begins to struggle, her mind uncharacteristically weakening as well. It is only then that they all realize the only possible way to clean up a disaster is to nuke the area. Meaning the already small clock was ticking. But in the backs of their minds, most are wondering why the strike hasn't come yet. Wasn't the government concerned with the outbreak escaping the city limits? The group stops to rest in the wooded park area by city hall, when Yoko drops another bombshell on them: Umbrella is behind it all. No one wants to believe her at first. Why would a pharmaceutical/cosmetics company that employs most of the city want to destroy it?

The impact of Yoko's warning finally sinking in, they hear a racket from inside: gunfire. They rush to the doors, only to find it partially barricaded from within. The three men push it in, and find dead bodies all about. What is strange, though, is that they find a pair of dead bodies by the barricade, as if they were trying to remove it.

Their reverie is broken by a death cry from above, and a monster that suddenly appears before them (Hunter!). The Hunter charges at them, and Mark's bomb narrowly misses. He tries to dive away, but with all his bulk, the creature gets a swipe in at his leg. Jim fires blindly at the beast, but luck is not on his side this time. The Hunter is about to kill Mark when George grabs an assault rifle from a body and peppers it with bullets. He then tends to Mark's wounds, which appear to be grave. Mark soon passes out.

The women enter the building, and help move Mark to a safer room. Yoko and Jim examine the bodies, looking for bite marks, expecting the bodies to become zombies soon. Meanwhile, Cindy and George attempt to repair the cut in Mark's leg, where one of his major arteries has been severed. After stitching the wound, Cindy takes George to get cleaned up.

Yoko is checking bodies when familiar pieces start to come to her. Somehow, she's seen these soldiers before, months earlier. Their documents, their equipment…it's all startlingly familiar to her. She hides this fact from Jim, who stumbles upon her finding a crucial document. Standing on the high balcony, Yoko realizes something when looking at the bodies. The soldiers were forced into this bad position, and could only have been done so by something coming in behind them. Meaning the Hunters had come in through the roof. Yoko runs up the stairs, and Jim chases her, thinking she's snapped. They come upon two Hunters prowling the area.

George and Cindy share a tender moment in the bathroom, George opening a bit about himself and his past, realizing something in Cindy made him honest. Though it may sound crazy, Cindy has found a degree of happiness in all this madness, finally having goals and plans. George shares some wisdom from his ex wife, and he reveals his own changes over the past few days. They're about to kiss when a vent above them caves in. Realizing the danger, George pushes Cindy away, and faces the Hunter, unarmed. He shoves the Hunter with his patented duck/shove move (R1 + O!), into a bathroom stall, where its claws get stuck in the metal. Cindy, standing on the toilet in the next stall, empties her clip into the Hunter's head, killing it.

Meanwhile, the Hunters outside have discovered Yoko and Jim, and are getting ready to pounce. Yoko reaches for Mark's shotgun, but realizes she hasn't cocked it yet. The monsters are closing quickly, and she knows she doesn't have time to do so. Suddenly, one of George's bombs flies over her head, but it hits a soft spot on the Hunter, bouncing off harmlessly. However, Jim's luck comes through once again, and the bottle shatters on the marble floor, blasting the two Hunters, killing one and stunning the other. Yoko takes the time to jack the rifle, killing the off balance Hunter easily.

The group meets up again in the bathroom, where Cindy is crying. They head downstairs to check on Mark, who is suffering through a terrible nightmare of his time in Vietnam. He isn't aware of when he becomes a zombie, but he immediately attacks Jim. Yoko saves him with some quick thinking, as no one else could do anything. Everyone is curious as to how exactly Mark would change, as he was never bitten by another zombie. Jim notices the wide pool of blood by Mark's body, and the group come to the conclusion that death triggers the zombification, and that they're all probably infected.

Cindy wonders aloud why the bodies outside haven't gone through the same transformation, when the door behind her suddenly buckles under the weight of the creatures. Trapped in the closet, the four survivors decide to try for the roof. They push through the zombie mass, and when reaching the door, they realize there is an automatic lock on the door, meaning any pursuers can easily get through. Cindy grabs one of her hairpins, quickly twisting it into a shape to keep the door locked.

They search the roof and find no more Hunters. Jim is digging through Yoko's back for some ammo, when he accidentally rips something in it. It is a hidden pouch in her bag, and upon closer inspection, he and George find an Umbrella ID card for Yoko. The men confront her about this fact, but she claims to remember nothing. Cindy is eager to give the girl a chance to speak, doing her best to ease the growing tension. Jim especially shows his anger, making no secret of his intense distrust of the girl. They decide to move on and find the Umbrella facility located on the back of Yoko's card despite his objections.

Moving through the streets, the group is surprised to see another survivor (Jill!), but this one on the run from a huge, hulking monster (Nemesis!). Jim's inner thoughts reveal the flipside to his luck, how disaster usually follows "Tails", which was his last toss…

While walking, Yoko suddenly brings up the STARS incident at the Spencer estate, a couple of months back. Everyone now realizes the STARS were being truthful about the monsters, and the conspiracy. The group decides to search the news office for information; they know if they die, the truth of the story must at least be exposed for the world to see.

They find the office seemingly deserted, with no barricade, which worries them. The men search upstairs, and surprise Alyssa, who shoots at Jim. Luckily, he dives to the ground in time (R1 + O!). He shares a few choice words with her, and everyone regroups on the second floor.

It becomes clear that Alyssa is rather drunk, and her attitude pretty much puts everyone off. Still, she surprises everyone with some of her observations. She was able to remain alone without a barricade because the building, like most newspaper offices, was soundproofed. Alyssa continues to work on a paper, and she reveals that it is her last story for the Free Press. She also hints at an attraction to George and an instant dislike of Cindy.

Alyssa discovers they have a radio, and decides it's a good time to try it. The only transmission they get is a garbled mess (Carlos from RE3). Everyone but Jim is ready to quit on the radio providing anything of use. Yoko and Alyssa are left in the room, alone, and the two talk about Yoko's past and why Jim doesn't like her. Most notably, though, is Yoko's revelation that she led the group to the news office in the hopes of finding information on her family, not Umbrella, though the two were probably connected. Alyssa reveals her own thoughts on Umbrella, that they are the ones keeping the incident from the public eye. Not only that, but the cynical Alyssa believes Yoko's claims to not remembering anything. The database would be off use, if they could get the backup generator going…Yoko recruits George to help her, leaving Cindy and Alyssa together.

The two women bicker over anything and everything. George accidentally spills a stack of paper by the generator, setting off a spark that becomes a fire when they're gone back upstairs. Yoko is struggling with the antique computer hardware, when George swoops to the rescue. Having worked in low budget hospitals, he's familiar with out of date systems. Just when he gets it back up, the fire alarm sounds.

Jim comes back down from the roof, telling everyone the alarm is ringing outside too, attracting zombies by the dozens to the front door. When debating on an escape route, Yoko decides she's going to stay, to access the database. Surprisingly, Alyssa offers to stay with her, perhaps smelling a story, or showing a genuine affection for the young girl.

Alyssa points the three others towards the window above the alleyway for a way out. Yoko then leads her to the computer terminal. The power begins to flicker, giving them time for one search. The Suzuki name prompts a huge hit list, and they select the first one they find. It's the award of a research grant, and something about a man in sunglasses strikes a chord within her…but the hazy memory is quickly lost.

Smoke begins to fill the room, and Alyssa leads the young girl out into the burning hallway. The two are suddenly attacked by a skinless, long tongued creature (Licker!), who Alyssa temporarily fends off. The entire wing is ablaze now, and Alyssa shoves Yoko down the stairs, who crawls under some flaming wreckage (R1 + O!). Alyssa then directs Yoko to close the shutter, which will kill the fire, but trap Alyssa in there. Torn by indecision, Yoko finally pushes it, when Alyssa does her patented leap back move (R1 + O!) to get down the stairs quickly and escape the two Lickers, barely making it under the shutter in time.

The reporter is badly hurt, bruises and burns covering most of her body. Yoko does her best to tend to the wounds, but wishes George or Cindy were there. Alyssa recovers, and opens a window in the lobby that connects to the alley (RE3 vets have wondered what that little black window in the news office reception was for; now you know!), and the group forms a plan.

Both groups are pinned by the collective zombies by the front. Alyssa reveals her hidden hand, a flash bang grenade she had taken off a dead SWAT officer. Using it to stun the zombies, the groups rush out the front, Yoko using George's last chemical bomb as well.

However, more zombies have come from the commotion, and are blocking the path the groups had planned to take (yet again). A half-conscious Alyssa points them towards the nearest building, a small but new gym facility. The group makes their way through the growing sea of undead. Cindy saves Alyssa with her injured partner duck move (R1+O!), but the group finds the front door locked as the zombies close in.

With Alyssa half dead, Yoko realizes the burden of responsibility falls on her, so she tries to pick the lock. Luckily though, Alyssa awakens, and helps her do it. The group barely makes it inside in time, and find the inside dark and empty. George tends to the injured, and the girls take Alyssa downstairs to the locker room to clean her wounds. Jim and George take the upstairs, confronted by a zombie.

Alyssa is cleaning up in the shower when she hears a strange noise. Thinking it Cindy, she comes out of the shower and is confronted by her own hungry zombie…

To be continued


	17. No pain, no gain

_**No pain, no gain**_

Popular media says your life will flash before your eyes when faced with certain death. It's an idea reiterated as often as the light at the end of the tunnel, the fading out of sound. But for Alyssa Ashcroft, only one memory stuck out in her mind. She was thirteen again, lost in the woods, alone and separated from the rest of the group. Without the slightest notion of survival training, she went two days without food or clean water. It was easily the toughest ordeal of her life prior to the outbreak. What stood out most in the memory, though, occurred when she finally discovered a campsite. She stumbled into the encampment, her throat too parched to speak, and she immediately set upon the table of food before her. Tearing into a roasted chicken, swallowing the food without chewing, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a small mirror resting by the picnic table. Her face caked with dirt and tears, eyes bloodshot from fatigue, she saw it: the hunger. That look on her face was the look of someone who would never be sated by food, not even all the food before her.

But the reflection she saw then was nothing compared to the hunger on the face of the creature lumbering deliberately towards her. Despite the darkness, she could make out the zombie's distinct features. It had once been a well-built man, a bit too muscular for her tastes, but surprisingly clean. There was no blood on him at all; no visible wounds, and nothing about his rugged jaw line suggested he had already feasted on someone's flesh. The only thing that told her he was no longer human was the paleness of his skin, and that hunger in his shrouded eyes. Oh, that inhuman hunger...Her mind idly wondered if it would have been better had she let that obese zombie from earlier finish her. At least the fat zombie would probably finish its meal quicker.

Seeing it lumber towards her, Alyssa instinctively leapt back, finding the cool linoleum of the wall against her back. The zombie was within arm's reach when she saw a blur of shadowed movement behind it. With a crash, Cindy slammed into the back of the much larger zombie, a heavy weight bar in her hands held in a crosscheck grip. As it wheeled around, the creature lost its footing on the slippery tile surface, falling onto its side. Cindy dropped one end of the steel bar, struggling to lift it over her head, when Alyssa stepped in, snatching it from her wobbly hands. The forty-pound bar might have given her trouble before, but now the reporter heaved it up easily, bringing it crashing down upon the undead at her feet. She rained blow after blow on the monster, now still, as viscous brain matter dribbled down the drain in chunks. Afterwards, the two stood there, panting.

"You okay," Cindy asked timidly, reaching out tentatively to the other shaking woman.

"I'm gonna need another shower," Alyssa said, still clutching the bar in her hands. Behind them, the door slammed open and George rushed into the room with a bloodied club of his own at the ready.

"Dear God," he said, averting his eyes. Cindy couldn't help but agree with his surprise, looking down at the gory mess that remained. But then she realized Alyssa was still standing there, stark naked with bloody brain matter peppered across creamy skin.

"Um, we better get you cleaned up," suggested Cindy.

"Is uh, everything else okay," asked George, with his back now turned completely once he was certain it was safe for the two.

"I think Alyssa might be in shock," she said, trying unsuccessfully to pry the bar from her hands. Alyssa seemed completely unaware that the threat was over, but at the same time, her expression was calm and serene.

"Keep her warm then, no sudden temperature changes," George said. "I'll go find some blankets and ah, clothes."

The door swung open again, and George had his club poised when Yoko and Jim came rushing in.

"Good timing, you two," said the doctor, taking charge of the situation. "We're going to need blankets or something along those lines to keep her warm…" He seemed to think for a moment. "And a change of clothes," he suggested to Yoko.

"Is she okay," asked Yoko, brushing past him.

"Yeah, what'd I miss," Jim asked, also trying to step past George, who stopped him, shaking his head.

"She's fine, but she needs those supplies. We'll all get cleaned up once she's been taken care of," he ordered. Jim's curious eyes showed a bit of resistance for a moment before relenting.

"Sure thing, doc," he said, an unfamiliar emotion creeping into his voice. It was strange, George thought, but that was almost happiness he'd heard in the younger man's voice.

--

"Make sure it's warm, he said," reminded Cindy, rubbing the thin towel against Alyssa's shoulders as Yoko checked the temperature of the shower.

"It's good," said the young girl. "Bring her over."

"Alyssa, come this way," Cindy urged gently. But the reporter stood still, staring down at the corpse and clutching her heavy weapon. "It's ok, honey, you're with friends now," she added to no avail.

"Enough of this," said Yoko suddenly. She cupped her hands under the showerhead, filling them with water, and threw the warm water in Alyssa's stoic face. Her eyes blinked once, but still didn't seem to register. Pulling her hand back, Yoko abruptly slapped Alyssa across the face, the crack of her palm on the woman's cheek echoing in the small room.

"Yoko," cried Cindy, shocked by the girl's actions. But the girl paid her no heed.

"It's what she'd want us to do," shrugged Yoko, and surely enough, Alyssa's eyes cleared and she returned to herself.

"Oh…I must've…lost track of…everything," she said slowly, rubbing her eyes as if she had woken from a long sleep. The weight bar clattered to the floor as Cindy led her to the shower.

"I think we're good here, Yoko," said Cindy. "Why don't you help George and Jim find those things we need?" The young girl nodded before leaving, heading towards Alyssa's locker to bring the clothes she had uncovered earlier before getting sidetracked. Cindy cast a worried look at the girl as she exited; she had changed. They had all changed, of course, but something of Alyssa's had rubbed off on her. A sort of…toughness. Taking a guard position by the door, Cindy wondered if a part of Alyssa's strength might rub off on her as well.

--

"Daaayum, _alllll_ nude," asked Jim for the fourth time.

"Yes Jim, but it wasn't like that," replied George.

"Man, I don't care what you say; a half naked, partly naked, and especially an _all_ naked woman is a damned sexy thang."

"Jesus man, she was in shock! It was like…like…" His mind wandered to exactly where he hadn't wanted it to, back to his first year of residency in the ER.

She had stumbled through the glass doors, mascara black tears caking her youthful face. Her lip was bloodied, but she still couldn't help but bite down on it, a nervous and fearful energy permeating her every timid step. One of the older orderlies sighed, familiar with the sight. He gently placed a white robe on her shivering shoulders, her hands vainly holding together tattered clothes. The girl was beautiful, no doubt one of the most beautiful George had ever seen in his young life, and yet he couldn't see past the heavy sadness she would be burdened with for the rest of her life. All that suffering and pain for one night of heavy drinking at a fraternity party. One of the other young resident doctors leapt at the chance to help such a lovely young woman, and George couldn't help but feel disgust at his friend's attitude. Still, he couldn't resist his own curiosity, and so he eavesdropped on her horrifying but familiar tale from the hallway.

He found the frat house door unlocked and half open as he stepped into the main foyer. Empty cups and cans littered the floor in puddles of stale booze, a few passed-out students snoozing drunkenly on couches. He went to each, turning more than one over onto his side, making sure they wouldn't choke on their own vomit. After he was certain they weren't in any danger, he crept up the stairs quietly. The room of the brother he sought was at the end of the hall. This door, however, was locked. Turning the handle, he shoved his shoulder heavily into the frame, cracking it enough to swing open. The noise had awoken the room's only occupant, a tall and lanky student barely out of his teens.

He leapt from his bed, but realized he had nowhere to run. Raising his hands in protest, he was halfway through his defense when George deftly rammed a fist squarely into his belly. Fighting for air, the boy keeled over when George slammed his knee into his gasping face. Digging his knees into the fallen kid's chest, the young doctor continued to pummel the boy's face with heavy fists. It was only after both his fists were dripping blood that George realized the boy was long unconscious. He rose in a daze, but still had the presence of mind to check his pulse to make sure he was alive, and left. None of the other brother's realized he had even been there; they were all too drunk to remember.

Seventeen years later, George could still recall every detail of that morning, the hollow sound his fists made on the boy's flesh, the distraught look in his own eyes as he washed the blood from his hands. George transferred the next week to another hospital, but he had kept tabs on the two students. The fraternity brother had become a lawyer, and worked for his father's lucrative practice on the west coast. The young woman dated, and later married, the doctor that had tended to her that fateful morning, and the couple had raised three healthy, happy children. The last he had heard from his doctor friend, they were driving through Raccoon City on their way to a vacation on the Great Lakes…

"…up right and perky, or those hanging droopy ones," Jim's half question brought him out of the memory.

"I don't know," George mumbled.

"Come on man, how you gonna lay it out for me like that? It's all in the details, baby."

"It was dark, Jim, and she was covered in blood! What do you want to hear," he yelled forcefully, surprised by his own anger.

"Oh…didn't realize there was blood involved, man," Jim said weakly, shrinking away.

"I'm sorry, Jim, it's just that…that you don't even seem to care about the situation we're in sometimes," George apologized.

"Better than crying and screaming like all dem dead folk," Jim muttered. His eyes turned serious, and George finally understood what Cindy had meant when she had talked to him about Jim. No matter what face he put on, it was just that: a mask. Not the person they knew they could count on. George patted him on the shoulder and they continued walking in silence.

--

The glow in the locker room was almost festive with the three women in such high spirits. Despite any age differences and the situation surrounding them, it was like three young girls in any school locker room. Yoko had unearthed a bag of clothes, and the three were trying on various outfits to replace the grimy, sweat soaked clothes on their backs.

Alyssa especially was riding her own cloud nine. Any expectation of her adrenaline rush wearing off was pushed back, her infectious vivaciousness taking over the trio. She had dug up an old track outfit that she had worn a year earlier for the city marathon, and had been hoping to use again. The faded number was still pinned to the front, and Cindy giggled when Alyssa completed the outfit by donning a pair of dark shades.

"Sunglasses at night? That is _so_ Corey Hart," she laughed.

"Eighties music, Cindy? I wouldn't have thought you were old enough to remember the good stuff," said Alyssa with a smirk.

"What can I say, I'm extremely sophistimicated for my age," snickered Cindy.

The two women broke into raucous laughter, but Yoko's mind was somewhere else. Cindy's words were echoing through her memories, the thought of sunglasses at night echoing some long distant conversation she'd once overheard.

"I can't decide between this and my karate outfit," said Alyssa, holding the white tunic in front of her.

"Never wear white after Labor Day," reminded Cindy grimly. "If there's one thing that must stay sane in this insane world, it's the laws of fashion."

"We will respect the laws of fashion," concurred Alyssa gravely. "What about you, Cindy, you gonna keep with the waitress ensemble, or what? I bet some of my clothes would fit you…the ass region might be a little tight, though."

"I dunno, the whole 'shoulder pad' look went out with Corey Hart," shot back Cindy. Seeing Alyssa laugh, Cindy wondered when things between the two of them had changed exactly. Was Alyssa just happy to be alive? Best not to think about it, she decided, letting herself enjoy the fleeting moment.

"Yeah, sorry Yoko, but I don't have anything in children's size," joked Alyssa, poking the young girl in the side.

"Albert," she muttered reflexively, her mind caught wandering. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," she added sheepishly.

"Albert? As in Fat Albert," asked Alyssa. "Watch yourself, kiddo," she said with a chuckle and another playful poke. But no matter her demeanor, Alyssa carefully observed Yoko, wondering what was going on in her head.

"How about this," said Cindy from behind them, pulling a bag from a nearby locker. "There's some gym clothes in here that might fit you, Yoko."

"Is it really a good idea to wear clothes that expose our flesh like this," asked Yoko, holding up the small outfit.

"Worried about attracting the wrong kind of attention," Alyssa asked slyly. "I'm sure Jim would love it…"

"What's that," asked Cindy, looking back and forth between the two. She loved any chance to gossip.

"Will you drop that," sighed Yoko. "There's nothing between us."

--

"Man, can you believe that shit," whined Jim. "Here we are, sweeping up dead bodies, while they get their own slumber party with pillow fights and shit."

"They're counting on us, Jim," said George, pointing to a locker. "And they don't have your or my stamina."

"Yeah, that's true," nodded Jim, grinning at George's unintentional praise. He couldn't remember the last time someone had said anything positive about his stamina. Hell, he was half out of breath after that flight of stairs.

George signaled to Jim as he reached for the locker's handle, pulling it open with a flourish. A dark shape fell out, and as Jim began to pummel it with his club, George pulled him back.

"Don't hold me back, doc! I'm a machine, a monster," he yelled, swinging blindly. Ducking under one of his wild swings, George grabbed his wrist, halting the flurry.

"It's just a bag of clothes, Jim," he said. Opening his eyes, Jim saw two large bags of clothes, now spilled across the floor, and he scoffed.

"They damn lucky they just clothes," he said, setting his weapon aside and grabbing the bags.

"Good thinking. We might find something of use in there," said George. "Maybe we can make some bandages or item holsters."

"You mean, maybe the girls can find something fashionable to wear?"

"What? Why would they care about something like that at a time like this?"

"Man, you might be a doctor and smart as shit, but when it comes to the ladies, you're dumber than me doc," said Jim with a sigh. "No matter the situation, no matter the danger, bitches will _always_ want to try on new clothes."

--

"These are all men's clothes," groaned Alyssa. "Way too big for us…"

"And they smell like men's clothes," echoed Cindy. "_Dirty_ men's clothes."

George and Jim exchanged a glance, both somehow knowing that this would happen.

"This isn't a fashion show ladies," said George. "Perhaps when you're bleeding to death you'll only want to use designer name bandages as well?"

"We've found our own clothes, thank you very much," replied Alyssa. "I'm fine in this running suit," she added, zipping up the front. She had been worried that the swishy material would generate too much noise, but the extra protection was worth it. Covered in that sleek material, she would be one slippery fish to grab a hold of.

"These fit me well too, wouldn't you say," asked Cindy, doing a slight pirouette in her pastel blue long sleeved shirt and long white jeans.

"You know you look great, Cindy," said Alyssa, surprising the men. Since when they such good friends?

"Are you…ok Alyssa," George asked, wondering if she had been hit on the head. Maybe the shock from earlier had done something to her?

"Where's Yoko," asked Jim, pulling a set of basketball clothes from the bag. "Haha! Sweet!"

"She said she found something earlier upstairs and wanted to check it out," replied Cindy, but Jim was too busy admiring the red mesh jersey to hear her answer.

"You let her go alone," George asked, shocked by their casual demeanor.

"Well, you two scoured the area up there already, right," said Alyssa. "Besides, she took a shotgun with her, and she had also checked it herself already, found it empty."

"How long ago?"

"A couple minutes," answered Cindy. "I'm surprised you didn't bump into her on the way here…"

"I'll go check on her," offered Jim, taking up his flashlight and heading for the door. Alyssa arched an eyebrow at his offer, shooting a glance at Cindy, who also took note of his uncharacteristic concern.

"Cindy, where did you get those clothes," asked George. "Those aren't the type of clothes a person would leave in their locker…"

"What do you mean, George?"

"People who come to the gym don't leave their regular street clothes behind in the locker, do they?"

"No, they don't," said Alyssa. "But it's not like we haven't encountered any undead in here, right?"

"Yes, but they were all male," replied George. "None of them would fit into those clothes…"

"Meaning…" began Cindy, slightly confused.

"There's someone else in here," finished Alyssa.

* * *

_Note: So sorry for the long delay, but I hope you find these next few chapters to make up for it. This one is a bit slow, but I really needed an excuse to get the 'old feel' back for the characters. I hope changing their clothes will spark some fresh ideas and perspective. I'd reread the old one, and I didn't like the direction it was taking, focusing on different things than I had first intended. Circumstance was getting in the way of the character interaction; I've since decided to let the characters propel the action, not so much where/when zombies pop up. Of course they'll still show up to throw a monkey wrench into the best laid plans, but I'm going to try and tone it down._

_One other thing I've decided to change is Jim's speech patterns. I like him being vulgar and honest, but the street slang is going to be severely reduced. So he'll still drop swears every other sentence, but he won't be talking like a wannabe rapper street thug anymore. In fact, I hope he's going to demonstrate a lot more of his character quirks in the coming chapters and not be such a stereotypical caricature._


	18. That which is lost

_**That which is lost…**_

She stood at the edge of the darkness, racking her memory. The bright circle of her flashlight hung, poised on the cracked door, but she couldn't for the life of her remember if she had left it open or closed. This was a brain that had maintained a 3.97 GPA in biomedical engineering, scored a 1560 on her SAT's, and earned a National Merit scholarship. A lack of sleep was no excuse; sleep deprivation experiments showed that adequate emotional duress could sustain high-end cerebral activity in subjects with less than two hours sleep over a five-day period. And she had barely gone three days. She decided that standing around there wasn't going to accomplish anything; the hallway was creepy enough.

The door swung in silently, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she found the room as she had left it. Alyssa's lock pick kit was still by the cabinet, undisturbed. The young girl had been thinking about the lock heads, and something had occurred to her; the brandof the lock probably dictated the style of the lock's layout. This one was newer, and was the same brand as the front door's design. Matching Alyssa's selection, Yoko found the fit snugger, easier. The lock snapped open with a soft click, and her face lit up with a joy beyond anything she had experienced in the past week.

"Yes yes yes," she breathed to herself, pumping her fist in quiet celebration. The lock came off easily, and she pulled the old doors of the cabinet open.

The space was deceptively large, big enough to probably fit her body if she tucked into a ball. Had there _been_ open space; the entire cabinet was filled, end to end, with bottles upon bottles of liquor and booze. She took the nearest one, turning it over in her hands; some sort of southern whiskey, by the look of it. The next one was an expensive gin, a group of vodkas, and so on. The owner certainly had a wide array of tastes. Yoko wondered if she should tell the others about this. Alyssa would certainly appreciate it, but then again, a drunk Alyssa might not be the best idea.

Just then, she heard a shuffling outside the door, and looked up to see the light of a flashlight in her face. Covering her eyes, she reached for her shotgun.

"Well, what do you have there," said Jim, aiming the light away, a goofy grin on his face.

"The owner's secret stash, I guess," she said. Apparently the choice was out of her hands now.

"Holy shit, that's the fucking _mother load_," whistled Jim as he knelt beside her. "Damn, dude had some sweet fucking taste…"

"I didn't take you for a drinker, Jim," she said, setting the bottles down.

"I don't drink for the taste," he said, hefting a bottle of Bacardi. "These would burn the fuck out of some zombies, though."

Yoko laughed. "I was afraid you'd insist on us drinking them," she said, relieved. Maybe Jim had some sense after all…

"Well, wouldn't mind sparing one or two to drink, right," he said, winking. He really could change a positive opinion about himself in a few words.

"Jim…" she began.

"Yeah, yeah…I'm just playin'," he replied. "With the bag of rags the doc and I found, and these, we could make enough bombs to waste that entire army out front…"

"That almost sounds like a plan," said Yoko curiously.

"More like a barbeque," he grinned. "Hey, what's that, there in the back?"

"What do you mean," she said, leaning down to follow his light. And then she saw it. Had he not pointed it out, she would never have seen it, tucked into the recess of the cabinet. She pushed the bottles out of the way, shoving her arm to the back to grasp the soft material and pull it out. But for all her effort, she couldn't quite remove it from the tight corner. Shooing her aside, Jim leaned in, grunting with strain, finally falling back with it in his hand. He brought his wrist to his mouth after handing it to her.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"Just cut my wrist on that hinge," he replied. "No biggie. Is that what I think it is," he asked, watching her dust the object off. Yoko couldn't help but tear up when she saw that it was.

"It is," she answered, clutching the canvas backpack to her chest like it was the Christmas present she'd been waiting all year for.

--

Finding the mystery occupant in the building proved far more anticlimactic than they were accustomed to. Her body was floating, face down, in the pool, the once bright blue water now a paler shade. The once strong smell of chlorine was faded, explaining the weakened color of the water. There was no sign of a lifeguard having been on duty.

"So what now," asked Alyssa, who knelt down to examine the water. "Christ, that water looks worse than the piss-water they have in Tijuana…"

"I guess we don't drink the water then," suggested Cindy.

"We better find something to drink, and soon," mumbled Alyssa.

"If we looked at your typewriter, is it nothing but 'All work and no play makes Alyssa a dull girl?' written over and over," joked Cindy.

"Not yet, but maybe soon," grumbled the reporter.

"We might have the solution to that problem," offered Jim, who stepped through the door with Yoko.

"Jim…" she said quietly, put off by his attitude. Didn't he say earlier that every bottle was a potential weapon?

"No worries, Yokes," he whispered. "This Schnapps won't burn well anyways. May as well enjoy the taste, right?"

"I guess…"

"Besides," he confided. "We have nearly 30 firebombs up there for the making. It's not like we can take them _all_ with us."

The girl nodded solemnly, deciding she could let one bottle go, especially in light of Jim finding her a new backpack. The bag was stronger than her last one, newer, and with more pockets. It'd probably hold a little bit more, but its added durability would be the biggest difference.

"Hot shit, who's the zombie bikini model," asked Jim as he handed Alyssa the bottle. Her eyes widened to nearly dish saucers, a wide grin spreading across her suddenly ecstatic face. It clearly took a conscious effort on her part to not tear the bottle open then and there and start chugging away.

"Nice choice, Jimbo," she said, carefully setting the bottle aside. But Jim was too busy playing with the lifeguard's long pole, poking the floating zombie with its tip.

"Be careful, Jim," urged Cindy nervously.

"Why are you even doing that," asked George, a bit annoyed by Jim's playful nature.

"Like you don't want to see the front side, doc," joked Jim, when he nearly slipped on the wet tiles and lost his balance. He righted himself quickly, much to everyone's relief, but before he could comment on his near spill, the floating corpse in the water rolled over and grabbed the cylinder in its teeth. It yanked viciously at the pole like a hungry wolf, pulling him into the musty water.

"Jim!" cried Cindy. The other women gasped in horror, seeing the water bound zombie actually begin to _swim_ towards their fallen friend. The strokes were sloppy, like a pitiful doggie paddle, but it was swimming nonetheless. As if it had retained some distant memory of the technique; or maybe it was just hungry.

This observation registered in George's brain in just a few moments, and he tore off his jacket, getting ready to jump in after Jim. He stopped when he felt Yoko's hand on his arm.

"What are you doing," he asked, resisting the urge to brush her hand aside.

She shook her head. Her eyes were torn; he could tell she wanted as badly as him to jump in, but something was stopping her.

"But Jim…!"

"I know," she said wistfully, leaning over the edge to reach for Jim's hand. He was thrashing wildly, the weight of his wet clothes heavy on his limbs. In just a few seconds, he was beginning to tire, and the zombie could somehow sense this, swimming faster.

"Over here, Jim," yelled Cindy, kneeling beside Yoko. Sighing, George went over to help them pull Jim up out of the tainted water.

The young man coughed out water, spitting to the side. Grabbing quickly for his handgun, he crouched down to where the zombie was approaching.

"_Kiss my ass, bitch_," he said mockingly before firing a round cleanly through its brain. Cloudy red muck leaked from the exit wound, forming misty swirls in the water.

Pulling George aside, Yoko voiced her concerns.

"That water…it was contaminated," she confided convincingly. "Just a little bit of it, in your mouth, in your eyes, in a cut…you'd be done," she added quietly. "Maybe we should…check him?"

"He'd never let us check just him," George replied. "I could offer to check everyone…"

"Then do it," she said curtly, going back over to hand Jim a towel.

"This might be a good time to get cleaned up," Yoko suggested to everyone, flashing George a look.

"Yes, and I can check everyone out for injuries," offered George. "We can lick our wounds, so to speak."

"Is that what they call 'playing doctor' these days," asked Alyssa coyly. George was stuttering through a reply when Cindy interrupted him.

"I can check the girls and save you some time," she offered.

"So how about it, Jim," George asked.

"You want to check _me_ out? Hells no," answered Jim. "I'm healthy as shit," he said, coughing out a last bit of grayish water.

--

"It's not a bad idea," she said later. "Maybe you should give him a chance. Or even have Cindy check you."

"Why bother, I'm fine," argued Jim, turning away. He had changed out of his subway uniform, into the basketball clothes he had found earlier. He kept his ratty blue jacket close at hand, though, which offered a bit more protection.

Yoko struggled to find a point for her argument, but Jim was as stubborn as they came. Having someone check him meant there was something wrong with him, and he would never accept that.

"They're trained professionals," insisted Yoko, following him down the hallway with a box of the owner's liquor in her hands. "They know what they're doing and just want to help."

"You mean like how they helped Mark," Jim asked bitterly.

"You don't really blame them for…what happened to Mark, do you," she asked doubtfully, setting down the box.

He stopped, and shook his head. "No, it wasn't anyone's fault," he answered slowly. "But they sure as hell didn't _help_ him, either, trained professional or not."

Something in his words softened her expression. "You miss him, don't you?"

"We all do. We've been running round like chickens with they heads cut off since he…you know."

She nodded. "I know. But it seems like we're finally putting together a plan to get out of here. This facility…we can make it—"

"Then what? You don't even know what's there and what's not!"

"It's a high end research facility, Jim. Built to withstand these kind of disasters…"

"How the fuck does a company build something to withstand the dead rising from they graves? Zombies and monsters? How do they know that's a possibility to even consider?"

"Doesn't sound like a bad idea now, though…does it?"

Jim regarded her suspiciously. "What do you _really_ know about what's goin' on?"

It was Yoko's turn to clam up. "If I remember something of use, you'll be the first to know," she answered carefully before moving ahead. As she walked away, Jim checked the cut on his hand again, the small wound seemingly none the worse. A grayish film circled the edge, as if the skin was already healing over. Touching it tentatively, Jim shivered without knowing why. He grabbed the box and hurried to catch up to Yoko.

--

Later, in the front room, the men pushed most of the weight equipment against the doors while Cindy unrolled some yoga mats she had found, covering them with clean towels. Everyone had taken the time to wash up, recognizing that the zombie sense of smell was far more acute than they had previously thought. Smelling, or stanking (as Jim had put it), was putting them at significant risk.

The women were dressed as they were earlier, with Yoko being the only exception. She was dressed in gym shorts and a t-shirt, her other clothes hung to dry after her rigorous hand washing. Cindy had dug up an all weather poncho for George, which he thought would be of great use. By the logo on its back, it had obviously belonged to some survivalist volunteer, but George tried not to think about what had happened to the previous owner. There was enough on his mind.

"You should get some rest," Cindy said to him, guiding him to a soft mat. "I'll take the first watch," she offered kindly.

"I don't know if I can sleep now," he muttered as he sat down. A bottle was suddenly thrust in his face.

"Have a swig with me then," slurred Alyssa. She had already finished a good quarter of its contents, her cheeks rosy with alcohol. "This is good Schnapps," she said, taking another long pull.

George took the bottle from her hands, shooting Cindy a nervous glance. If they didn't help her finish the bottle, Alyssa would no doubt polish off every drop in it. He took a deep gulp from the booze, its syrupy thick sweetness dribbling down his throat, and handed it to Cindy. She took the bottle meekly, taking a timid first sip.

"Wow, that _is _good," she marveled, taking another mouthful of the tasty booze. "I didn't know liquor could taste this good," she added.

"What do you mean, you worked at a bar," said Alyssa.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I was constantly drinking," replied Cindy, blushing. "In fact…"

"Don't tell me…you've never had a drink…?"

"No, of course not," Cindy said, averting her eyes. Alyssa laughed heartily.

"Well, you're hooked now, I can tell," she chuckled. "Have another," she urged.

Cindy complied, finishing most of the bottle in her next gulp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand in a sloppy flourish.

"Jesus, you're a natural, Cindy…you could probably drink most of the sailors I know underthe table," laughed Alyssa.

"Why don't you take the rest of this to Jim and Yoko," suggested Cindy. A giggling Alyssa agreed that was a good idea, disappearing down the hallway.

"Was that really your first drink," asked George, incredulous.

"You kidding, I was in a sorority for three semesters," Cindy answered with a sly grin. "I figure it's better if we all lend Alyssa a hand…it'll probably make everyone feel a bit better to have a few drinks, too."

"You certainly sound like you were in a sorority," laughed George, yawning as he lay down on the mat. "Why don't you get a rest? You haven't slept since the tenement building…"

"And you haven't slept at all, George," she said, worried. "Take a load off; I'll take this watch," she added, leaning against one of the universal weight machines.

"Wake me in a few hours," he said, but he was fast asleep before he even heard her reply.

--

The remaining three soon joined her by the front, Jim and Yoko setting down the last boxes. Alyssa eyed the bottles longingly, but she decided sleep was more important at that point. She took the mat beside George, and Yoko took the one next to her. Jim had the last spot to himself, but seemed content to sit in the corner with a large blanket draped around his shoulders. He shivered every so often, and seemed to be plagued by nightmares. Cindy would rouse him every so often, quieting his whimpers with some delicate soothing.

The hours passed slowly. Cindy deciding to take her mind off the shifting shadows by tearing strips of cloth to tie around the necks of the liquor bottles. Once lit, the bottles could be thrown as flaming missiles, exploding in a burst of fire. Ghetto napalm, Jim had called it, but he seemed more anxious than the others to use it. He had confessed to Cindy that he hated being cooped up, but the rest of Alyssa's bottle seemed to calm him some.

She counted thirty-three Molotov cocktails by the time she finished, separating them by size, then proof. Her brain was rebelling, wanting nothing more than to settle down and sleep. Organizing and prioritizing was the only way to keep it from winning. Then again, Cindy never considered herself the type of person to lose to her brain.

Moving a set of the bottles by Yoko's head, Cindy was surprised to see her still awake, but pretending to sleep. The young girl rolled over, hoping Cindy didn't notice, and Cindy wondered if it not a better idea to have Yoko keep watch if she had trouble sleeping. Cindy decided to take another lap around the windows before checking again on Yoko. If conditions remained the same, she would ask to switch. Even just a few minutes of sleep would be heavenly.

The streets were oddly quiet, most of the fires long dead. The undead still milled about restlessly, but fewer moans and howls escaped their cracked, blood-caked lips. She heard neither screams nor gunshots; she couldn't decide whether or not that was a good thing. Either people were safe for the moment, like them, or there was no one left alive to fight or die. Something else that was odd struck her; standing by the window closest to the front door, she saw the number of zombies dwindling. Hadn't there been nearly twice as many before? Or was it her own pounding fear that had increased the numbers in her head? One thing was certain; three or four well-placed Molotov cocktails, and that group would be done for good.

Returning to the others, Cindy was pleased to see Yoko still awake, busy examining the bottles.

"Having trouble sleeping," asked Cindy, being careful to whisper.

"Something like that," replied the girl quietly, nervously eyeing the others. "Can we find somewhere to talk?"

Cindy nodded, leading the girl to the stairway. From there, they could still see the whole room, but they could speak freely, the noise kept to the staircase.

"It's Jim," confided Yoko.

"I _knew_ it," squealed Cindy joyfully. "So you _do_ care for each other!"

"Cindy," Yoko said sternly. "I think he's infected."

"Infected…? But how," asked Cindy, her stomach sinking. Not another one…

"The pool," replied the young girl. "He cut his wrist earlier, and that water was no doubt contaminated. He's since shown signs of fatigue, sensitivity to temperature changes, and blurred vision."

"How do you know this? Did he tell you?"

"No, but he was winded from a short walk, I saw him trip over something right in front of him, and you saw how he's huddled under that blanket…something's wrong. These symptoms…they all match what we've seen before."

"Oh no," sobbed Cindy quietly. "We have to help him…!"

Yoko nodded silently, her eyes never leaving Jim. "Go get some rest," she ordered. "I'll take over watch."

"God, I don't think I can sleep _now_," Cindy said, wiping away tears.

"It'll all be ok, Cindy," Yoko reassured her. But in her heart, the young girl wondered if either of them truly believed that.

* * *

_Note: I kind of didn't want to end the chapter right here, but the next few segments take quite the turn, making the transition seem a bit jolting. I'm starting to get a feel back for the characters, and with the ending long in my mind, I have a feeling this journey is heading for a close, and soon. _

_One bit I might have to explain (though I hope I don't have to): that scene about 'All work and no play makes Alyssa a dull girl' is from, of course, The Shining. Originally, it says 'Jack', and I first used the name 'Jill', but it probably makes more sense to use Alyssa, since she is a writer, and she is going a bit stir crazy without booze. Any excuse to mention Jill, I suppose…also, took the title for this chapter from an episode of Full Metal Alchemist, which I've been enjoying lately. Good little show._

_Anyways, it might not seem like much happened in this chapter, but it will have repercussions down the road. Plus, I was really happy to make use of Jim's 'item spotting' ability from the game. Man, I wish Capcom would give Outbreak the budget and programming it deserves. Could be such a fantastic online game franchise. _


	19. Transformations

**_Transformations _**

George was the next one to wake, feeling Cindy's warmth beside him. Rolling over, he was confronted instead with Alyssa's drooling face, her hair spilled haphazardly about her snoring face. Startled, George quickly rose from his bed, turning to see Cindy on his other side. By contrast, she slept with both hands tucked together under her face, almost angelic in her peaceful slumber. He pushed the thoughts from his head, knowing there was a better time and place for these feelings of his.

Rising quietly, taking care not to disturb her, George realized she hadn't woken him to switch posts. Had she simply fallen asleep? No, Cindy wasn't that irresponsible. Fighting the urge to wake her, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. By a distant treadmill he saw a small shadow, hunched over silently: Yoko. He crept towards her, wondering if she were awake. He was within three steps of the door when he noticed she had changed back to her other clothes, and saw her grip on the shotgun, her alert eyes taking him in.

"I'm awake, George," she whispered coolly. "No need to test me."

"Just making sure," he apologized sheepishly. George realized he was beginning to take everyone's efforts for granted, and promised to himself that he would try not to in the future.

"George," she began quietly. "I want you to do me a favor…"

"Anything," he promised, feeling guilty for his earlier doubts.

"Check Jim now, while he's sleeping," she said. "He cut his right wrist earlier, before falling into that pool…"

"I don't think checking him when he's asleep is a good idea," said George. "If he wakes up, and sees a strange shadow close by…"

"That's why I didn't do it myself," confessed the girl. "But with two of us, I can keep an eye for his gun while you check that cut."

George thought it over. It wasn't a bad idea. But what if he _was_ infected? Would they just kill him then?

"I don't think that is a…prudent idea," he finally said. "I think we should just plan for the worst eventuality while hoping for the best."

"While keeping an eye out for him the entire time? What if he…changes at a crucial time, when he's at our backs? We'd be surrounded," she whispered harshly.

"It's no different from how we've been keeping an eye out for each other already," replied George, rubbing his forehead. "And if he does change…I'll take responsibility for it."

"So why not now," she insisted.

"Because it won't help us to know now," he answered. "It will only complicate things."

"And later? What about complications then? Shouldn't we take care of them sooner, rather than later?"

"So, what, you're willing to shoot him now, before he's even transformed? You're okay with doing that, just killing another human being?"

She rubbed her eyes thoughtfully. When she opened them, George was taken aback by what he saw. There was no longer any indecision, any confusion in those eyes.

"Yes," she replied gravely. "I am."

--

"Dear god," was all he could say. "You're not…serious?"

"Someone has to be," she answered. "We have to start approaching this like a mathematical problem; there's no room for compassion."

"And if it were you?"

"If it were me, I'd put the bullet in my head personally," she answered without hesitation.

George regarded the girl in a new light, astonished by what he was hearing.

"Listen," she said, softening. "I'm not saying that we should go over and shoot him in his sleep. But we should know for sure, at least, instead of pretending to not see what I'm almost certain is there, and hoping foolishly for the best. Not _one_ thing since this all began has turned out for the best."

Logic was one thing that would always work wonders on a scientific, rational man like George Hamilton. It had dominated his work, his beliefs, his very life. To deny that now would be, as Yoko called it, foolish. He saw for himself the same symptoms that Yoko had, but he had tried to ignore what he noticed, tried to avoid the issue. The infection was catching up to them. Sooner or later, it would get them all.

He nodded. "Ok, let's do it," he whispered.

Draped in the shadows, the pair glided silently towards their sleeping target. Pushing the folds of the blanket aside, George gently reached under it for Jim's wrist. Impossible to see through the deeper darkness, he had to go solely by feel. He had never appreciated how much a doctor relied on his sight until then. Feeling a soft knot of muscles, he realized that was Jim's thigh; moving his hand up, he felt something. No, that wasn't a wrist…

"This is…"

"YEAAHEY!" screamed Jim, throwing off the blanket in a panicked frenzy. He fell to the ground, grabbing for his handgun, but luckily losing it in the folds of the huge blanket. He kicked blindly, trying to cast off the sheet, his foot connecting with George's chest. With a grunt, the doctor fell back while Jim continued hollering.

"Calm down, Jim," yelled Yoko, locking her arms around his neck. "It's just us!" In the tussle, she'd lost her grip on the shotgun. She could feel Jim's muscles softening at her voice, their tenseness vanishing.

"Christ, what the fuck," he panted, seeing a sleepy eyed Alyssa and Cindy staring at him, a gasping George at his feet. "Did one of you grab my…junk? Yoko," he asked curiously as the girl's grip loosened.

"What? What are you talking about," wondered Cindy. Alyssa was already climbing back under her blanket, not caring for the answer.

"Told ya so," she mumbled sleepily.

"Not exactly," replied Yoko, flustered. How was she supposed to respond to that? "George…?"

"I uh, wanted to give you some uh, medicine that I had made earlier," he said lamely. Thankfully Jim was too tired and confused to be in his usual doubting mood. Or maybe he didn't want to consider the alternative.

"What kind of medicine?"

"It's a general antiviral medicine I made with some of Cindy's herbs," he answered, handing him a few pills. "Very potent oxidants," he added, but Jim was already swallowing one.

"Wow, I can feel myself getting better already," he said. And compelled by something that might have been instinct, he glanced down at his wrist, noticed by both George and Yoko. "I can take the next watch," he offered.

"No, you keep resting," said George, casting Yoko a worried glance. "We'll be moving within an hour anyways," he added.

Jim settled back down under his blanket to sleep, and fell so easily into slumber that he didn't notice that his shivers had stopped.

--

The last lock of the building was no doubt the hardest. Pulling the door open, they could see why. Vials upon vials of painkillers and assorted medications were stacked from front to back of the cabinet.

"Holy shit," marveled Jim, grabbing a bottle. "Jackpot…!"

"We've hit the crack mother load," added Alyssa breathlessly. "Be careful, Jim…those'll make your dick shrink."

"I _knew_ those fucks were doing 'roids," squealed Jim, who's spirits seemed to be buoyed since taking George's medicine. Or was it the sleep? Yoko noted that he hadn't exhibited any of the telltale symptoms since then.

"Take these, Jim," said George, handing him a bottle of pills. "Two a time, every two hours."

"_Two_ hours," asked Cindy warily. "You sure?"

George opened his mouth to speak, but realized he hadn't told Cindy about the possibility of Jim being infected. In fact, he had promised Yoko he would tell Cindy in private, while she would tell Alyssa. The young girl also realized this, shooting him an accusing look.

"If anyone needs to kill the pain, it's Jim," Alyssa answered, sharing a knowing glance with the doctor.

"Har dee fuckin' har," mocked Jim, popping a pair of pills into his mouth before checking his watch.

"Only take what you can carry," ordered George, handing everyone a small bottle. He clutched a bottle of hemostat tightly in his hand, knowing that if they had found these earlier, Mark would probably still be with them.

--

The first bottle erupted in a deafening roar of fire upon shattering. Its flames spread instantly, consuming four zombies in a red-hot inferno. The creatures, which had seemed impervious to pain up until that point, began to groan in pain, their flesh melting like heated wax, distorting their already hideous features.

"God, what a smell," said Cindy, pinching her nose.

"Burning skin and hair _never_ smells good."

"It doesn't seem to be attracting the other zombies either."

"Guess they like their meat raw…"

"Did you guys notice that there are fewer of them out there now?"

"They probably went to find their meal elsewhere."

"Then how come they _all_ didn't go?"

"You're asking _me_ how the zombie brain works?"

"I'd think it was so simple that we would know how it works by now."

"Then how come us guys can't figure out what you women want?"

"The same reason zombies can't outsmart humans, I guess."

The next bomb was quite beautiful in its explosion, the fire racing in every direction, chasing the flying liquid. George grunted in satisfaction; his bomb hadn't killed as many as Jim's first heave, but at least no one was mocking his throwing form. Five years of rugby and lacrosse, and yet he still couldn't throw with proper form.

Cindy and Yoko threw theirs simultaneously, both nearly panicking as a pack of zombies brushed past the fire without regard to their flaming limbs. Their bombs erupted in a tall wall of flame, the sudden light blindingly bright.

"Careful," warned George. "We don't want these fires getting out of control with only one exit…"

"The booze should burn off soon enough," said Alyssa, eager to throw hers. Pulling her arm back, she was about to cast the bomb when she saw that familiar shape through the window. The glow of the fire reflected off the reinforced glass, partly obscuring it from view, but she could recognize that outline easily enough. It had haunted her dreams only a few hours ago, after all.

The glass shattered inward with its lunging attack, the Licker bounding through the fallen glass with a feline-like grace. Trying to redirect her aim, Alyssa missed badly, the bottle breaking to its side. The flames were close enough to stun the creature, however, shrieking from the overload to its heightened senses.

Four bombs were hurriedly thrown in the next moment; none of the survivors waiting for the other to throw one. Confronted with such an unspeakable horror, it was to almost be expected that they would overreact, Alyssa the only one to have actually faced one in combat.

A column of flame like none they had ever seen burst from the floor, shooting in every direction, rising high enough to touch even the raised ceiling. Weight equipment began to burn, the black rubber dripping down stainless steel supports. And within that inferno, the Licker screeched in agony, its sleek flesh simmering, then melting, and finally burning to a blackened crisp.

The group was unable to observe this deterioration of the creature, turning to an ashen pile of charred bones, met with the growing blaze from their mass bombing. The entire front of the gym was consumed in flame, spreading to opposite ends in a rush of hungry fire.

"Shit," swore Jim. "What now?"

"Only one way out," replied George. "Follow me," he yelled over his shoulder.

Rushing forward, he leapt over the smaller fire by the front door, lobbing another bomb through the opening. He could hear the others behind him, panting from the thick smoke. Just when they thought they had escaped one fire…

Yoko especially was struggling. She had packed as many cocktails as she could into the bag, the canvas stretched and nearly about to burst. Reaching over, Cindy grabbed the top strap of the girl's bag, helping to support the great weight. The two exchanged a brief smile, trying to catch up to the others. Alyssa in particular was far ahead of them, passing George to leap over the flames of his last bomb, which was spreading towards a stack of cars.

"Alyssa," cried Cindy. "Don't—"

But before the young woman could scream her words of warning, the fire jumped to the cars, engulfing them in a burst of red-hot flame. The cars instantly caught afire, the combustion reaching the engine block. And fuel tank. Exploding in a flash, the blast knocked George clear off his feet, tossing him back onto Jim.

"Alyssa," called a worried Cindy, seeing the men unhurt. Helping them up, she called to the other woman again, her cries drowned by the blaze.

"Are you all ok," came Alyssa's distant voice. "I'm cut off here!"

"Are you hurt," yelled George, looking around. With the thin roadway, there really was no way around this conflagration.

"I'm fine," she replied, her voice growing fainter. "I'm going to head to the police station," she called. "Go on without me; I'll try to meet up with you later!"

"We should stick together," argued Cindy vehemently, but they heard no reply. Alyssa was already gone.

* * *

_Note: I didn't want to make a big deal about Alyssa being cut off, as she didn't start as one of the main characters, and I'm considering some future uses for her down the road. I started to do this new thing I've been meaning to try, where I list line after line of dialogue without any indication of who said it. I figured it might be a good test to see how well the readers (and I) know the characters. It got a bit confusing for me though, so I left just that one short conversation in there._

_Another part that just sort of happened was the whole George-checking-Jim bit. I had no intention of making it humorous, actually considering making that a scene where Jim disappears after overhearing Yoko's promise to kill him, then having him come back later to save them all. I decided to lighten the mood a bit, and I never liked how George says in the game "This is…". So I had no qualms at all poking fun of him for it. _

_While her departure might seem a bit abrupt, I couldn't shake the notion that Alyssa secretly wanted to be separated, and forge her own path. Got a strange feeling she'll pop up again sometime soon…_


	20. An ocean of wickedness

_**An ocean of wickedness**_

The remaining four walked on with heavy hearts. No one spoke, their minds all dominated by the same thought: how could anyone survive on their own in this hell? How long would it be before she too died? A sudden burst of optimism came from an unlikely source.

"She'll be fine," said Jim. "If anyone can make it alone, it's Alyssa."

"Jim's right," echoed Yoko. "I bet we find her already at the facility, way ahead of us," she said confidently.

Cindy did her best to put on a smile, but she could only remember Alyssa's fatigue after the fire at the news office. What would she do without someone to hold her up next time? Everyone needed someone in this kind of disaster; of this she was certain.

"We should head there then," said George, meeting Cindy's worried eyes with his own. "She knows the way; the only thing we can do is have faith in her."

Everyone seemed to nod in agreement, the pace quickening. If what Yoko said was true, they could expect to find a fully operational research facility, complete with electricity, communications equipment, and maybe even help. Anyone with access or knowledge of the facility would immediately head there upon the onset of the outbreak.

They were within sight of the facility just before dawn. A pale, monochrome blue filled the landscape, the sudden temperature change causing fog to rise from the damp ground. Nearing the edge of the city limits, the trek was quiet and uneventful. They encountered neither survivor nor undead on the streets, and found no signs of battle. It was strange, but common sense dictated that most were unprepared to make it this far on a hunch. After all, few knew of its existence, and there was little reason to head towards the city's main river, where the facility lay.

The building appeared remarkably unremarkable. Had they not been told of its lower levels and hidden secrets, the survivors would have thought it nothing more than a remote warehouse or a drab distribution center. A high arcing steel fence surrounded the grounds, high gauge girders as a foundation. Someone could ram a truck at full speed into that fence, and they'd more than likely bounce off.

Removing the ID card from her pocket, Yoko approached the front gate. Still they found no sign of life, not even a guard on duty. A security camera above the gate whirred, its lens focusing through the thick fog. Looking up at the camera, Cindy couldn't resist the urge to wave at it.

"What are you doing," asked Jim.

"Just letting them know we're friendly," she answered, put off by his bluntness.

"No, I was talking to Yoko," he said over his shoulder. "What's the hold up here?"

She turned to face the other three, a befuddled expression on her face.

"The card…my ID…it doesn't—" she began, her voice trailing off weakly.

"What is it, honey," asked Cindy kindly, a degree of nervousness in her words.

"It's not working."

--

"You have got to be fuckin' kidding me," grumbled Jim later. "It could only happen to me…we trudge fucking mile after fucking mile, only to find her goddamn card is goddamn _expired_?"

"It's probably a new protocol for a lockdown procedure," countered Yoko, but he didn't care about the reason, only the problem. She pushed a branch aside, continuing to hike through the underbrush.

The woods by the facility were thin, most of it removed for the future of the land development. Despite Jim's incessant complaints, they were actually quite lucky that the woods were safe enough to move through, with so few places for ambushes. Still, the fog was thick enough to toy with their imaginations, the unseen terrors of the frightened mind.

"I see it," said Yoko. "The river is just up ahead!"

"Any sign of a boat or raft," asked George, quickening to catch up to the girl.

Emerging from the bushes, the river opened before them. It flowed as if nothing had happened, as if the entire city hadn't been destroyed in just a few days. Thus was the immutability of nature, George thought to himself. No matter what awful fate awaited them or the thousands of other people within the city, the river would remain the same. As it always had been.

"There's something," pointed Jim, coming up behind them. The rest had to struggle to see where he pointed, the thick fog swimming above the water.

"Looks like a rowboat," said Cindy, stepping onto the docks. Seven other spaces were empty, the boats either sunk or taken. Ancient, withered boards creaked beneath her.

"Be careful, Cindy," warned George, his eyes scanning the decrepit structure.

"Crap, looks like that's the only boat," whined Jim, reluctantly grabbing a nearby paddle. "Hope you got your paddle on, doc."

"We might have to go in rotations," said George grimly. "We'll be paddling upstream."

"It's gonna be one of those days, huh," groaned Jim.

--

If it were possible, the fog was thicker on the water, an impenetrable swirl of murky pea soup-dense mist. Guided by only the dim light of the predawn morning, the group did their best to move north, the only sound the lapping of the waves and the oars breaking the surface of the water.

"How can you tell we're even going in the right direction," asked Jim, grunting with the strain of his oar.

"Just go against the current," suggested Yoko.

"How are you guys doing, do you want to switch," Cindy offered, hoping they weren't tired already. It had barely been twenty minutes, and she suspected they were barely halfway there.

"My two years of crew really aren't paying off like I thought they would," panted George. "But I think we can manage," he added with a strained smile. Yoko watched the two men intently, particularly Jim. She couldn't believe it, but he still had shown no further symptoms since George gave him those pills. Could something so simple as over-the-counter meds really slow the virus? Or had he somehow escaped infection? Still, she doubted she could trust him.

"I think I see it," Cindy yelled brightly. And surely enough, the others were able to see the tip of the building, buried under a mountaintop of shifting fog, barely a hundred meters away. "Guess we made better time than I thought," she said. Feeling the nearness of their destination, the men doubled their efforts.

Breaking through a dense wall of fog, the survivors found themselves floating in an odd clearing of the mist. They could see open waters to the facility's docks, and a set of low cages built into the water. What were those for, wondered Cindy.

She became dimly aware of the noise moments later, the monotonous rowing and waves being broken by the sound of something else in the water. It sounded like a school of fish paddling through the river, but when she saw that terrible shape through the fog, she knew. The triangular dorsal fin sliced neatly through the water, coming towards the boat at a remarkable speed.

"Shark!" she screamed, and everyone's face paled as if she had told some horrible joke.

"A shark? In a fresh water river," said George doubtfully. But as he turned to follow Cindy's eyes, he saw she was right.

"Dear god," he cried. "Faster, Jim, we have to paddle faster," he urged, nearing panic.

"Are you kidding, we ain't outrunning that thing," argued Jim, reaching for his gun. Dropping the oar, he reached with his other hand into his pocket, drawing out his treasured lucky coin. He took a deep breath, tossing it into the air, praying for his luck to improve just a bit.

The shark's nose smashed the boat in that instant, the wood splintering. More importantly, Jim watched his lucky coin fall out of his reach and into the dark swirling waters. He stood to jump in after it, and feeling the boat lurch, thought better of it.

"I'll just get another one," he mumbled sadly.

"Everyone, take a side," ordered George, taking his oar in both hands. "Those cocktails are going to be useless," he added, seeing Cindy take one into her hands. Despite the peril of their situation, she blushed at her foolish mistake, not realizing where they were.

"Oh, right," she said weakly, taking up a handgun. They were down to very little weapons and ammo. Their best firearm, Yoko's shotgun, was also going to be the least effective in water, and at long range.

"Port side," Jim said suddenly, firing his handgun. The bullets made little splashes, and the water turned red. "Score," he yelled triumphantly.

"Will that be enough to scare it off," George wondered. "I thought sharks were most often scavengers, and anything that fought back could scare them off…"

"Those aren't ordinary sharks," Yoko said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at her. "They're Neptunes," she added sadly. "Sharks implanted with the virus to make them unstoppable killers."

"You fucking _knew_ and you _still_ brought us here!" screamed Jim, thrusting his handgun into her face. "Tell me one good reason why we shouldn't just throw your scrawny, lyin' ass overboard!"

"They only kept one on hand, and it was supposed to be destroyed in the event of a lock down," she insisted, but something in her voice didn't sound quite so sure.

"That's it," said Jim angrily. "I say we throw her to the fishes and row like fucking hell."

"Don't you get it, Jim? It won't stop after it eats one, or even two of us. It'll eat and eat until we're _all_ dead," she cried. "And I'm literally in the same boat as you, so don't act as if I did this on purpose!"

"Quiet, the both of you," George commanded, his dark eyes watching the Neptune's fin sail across the water's surface. "I think that thing can hear us."

"It makes sense," said Yoko quietly, leaning over to watch the fin circle aimlessly. "Sharks have terrible vision, and respond to shapes, not details…"

"National Geographic ain't gonna help us here," Jim whispered loudly. "Anything injected with that virus throws _all_ the rules out the window."

"What's your suggestion then," asked George, trying to follow the shark's movements in the fog.

"Pool our bullets, take our time sniping it when it nears the surface, then row like madmen when it goes to lick its wounds," suggested Jim.

"It's coming back," pointed Cindy. "Starboard side!"

"Looks like we're not going to have time to try your plan," said George, raising his oar. Jim began to fire again, his bullets splashing in the water, leaving no trace of red this time. The shark's fin vanished under the dark water a moment later.

"Oh shit…this is _never_ good," Jim said weakly.

The group held their collective breath, listening hard for the faintest hint of sound or movement. Their ears took in nothing but the lapping waves of the river against their boat, the creak of the wood. Water had begun to dribble onto the boat's deck, through the broken boards from the Neptune's first attack.

It was through one of these cracks that George saw it coming, the fluid form of the Neptune almost poetic in its terrible beauty. It was a strange sensation, much like the first time he had ever been in a car accident. He could see the other car coming at his, and yet there was nothing in the world he could have done to stop it. Only close his eyes and brace for impact.

The nose of the shark crashed into the bottom of the boat, tearing the small raft nearly in half. Its grisly jaws opened, revealing rows of jagged teeth, taking in pieces of wood and grinding them to splinters. Thrashing its head side to side, the creature hung tightly onto the raft, tossing Jim and Yoko into the water. George held blindly onto an oarlock, locking his arm with Cindy's, keeping them both aboard the swiftly sinking boat. His eyes clenched tightly from the strain, he only heard the sound of her handgun, the smacking of bullets on flesh. The Neptune turned away silently, diving back underwater. Yoko was helping Jim back onto the other half, the two soaking wet and pale as ghosts.

"Did I get it," wondered Cindy. "I was trying for its brain…"

"I doubt it, their brains are the size of walnuts," said George. "But you saved them all the same, Cindy," he added, seeing her disappointment.

"Yeah, thanks Cindy," panted Jim, shaking the water from his pistol.

"I'm thinking…can we burn the water," Yoko asked suddenly.

"_Burn the water_…? Goddamn…she's lost it, guys. They _use_ water to _put out_ fires!"

"What if we poured all the cocktails into the water and lit them, though," she said. "The alcohol will burn on the surface, but it could buy us some time…"

"That's actually not a bad idea," agreed George, opening a bottle. "It might even scare off this Neptune creature; it's probably never had to deal with fire…"

The group began to open their last cocktails, dumping fifteen bottles of top shelf liquor into the water. Creating a wide ring, Yoko put the flaming rag to the surface, which ignited instantly. The fire burned low, but hot nonetheless.

"It's swimming away!" cheered Cindy. "It worked!"

"Let's swim for it, then," said George grimly. "We have no idea how long this will burn, or if that thing will keep its distance."

Before the four survivors could dive into the water, however, the Neptune decided to make one last go at them, fire or not. Emerging suddenly from the flaming water, the giant shark tore towards the section with Jim and Yoko. For some reason unknown to even him, Jim pushed Yoko aside, away from the Neptune's savage mouth, which instead turned its hungry attention towards him.

"Jim!" cried George, who leapt forward with his heavy oar, jamming it into the jaws of the hungry shark. The monster teeth of the Neptune tore the wood to pieces, pulling George off balance and into the water.

Staring into the soulless, reflective eyes of the monster, Jim saw it. What some philosophers called the abyss, the antithesis to everything one had ever known…Jim saw. He didn't understand it in those terms, however, simply foreseeing an end to a life he hadn't yet fully experienced. Seeing it, something took over his consciousness, a desperation blinded with an incomprehensible rage.

Grabbing for Yoko's shotgun at his feet, he blasted into the open mouth of the shark, using the recoil to cock it again and again, emptying the last six rounds in six quick bursts. The dead Neptune sank into the water in bloody pieces, the top of its head torn asunder by Jim's furious attack. Still, Jim continued to cock and fire the gun, unaware of the dry click, or anything else around him.

"Jim," soothed Yoko. "It's dead…" As she reached for the rifle in his hands, she was astonished to see tears in his eyes.

"I almost got eaten by a fucking mutant _shark_," he mumbled tearfully, but she couldn't tell if he was talking to her or himself.

"It's gone now, Jim. Can you make the swim," she asked gently.

"He can make it," George said suddenly. "Move it, soldier," he added gruffly, his voice deeper than usual. Cindy looked at him strangely, wondering what he was doing, when she realized his words were ones Mark often used to get Jim going. The young man nodded once, solemnly, before leaping into the cold river.

Floating in the murky water, its frigid bite nipping at their skin, the four survivors swam tiredly towards the facility's dock. The flow of the river had lessened, granting them slightly easier passage. Still, they each wondered what swam below them, what lay beneath the shadowy darkness of the water's surface. George reached the dock first, pulling himself up onto the wood before helping the rest climb up. With the last person up, he let out a relaxed sigh, wondering how many more times they could cheat death.

"Jim, are you ok," Cindy asked, his frail body shivering noticeably.

"I'm fine," he said miserably. "That water was just so goddamn cold." He dug his hands into his pockets again, and they again came up empty. His pills…the pills George had given him must have fallen into the water during the swim. Pushing the ominous thought aside, he shivered, and whether or not it was from the chilly waters, he could not say.

_

* * *

Note: This chapter turned out less Silent Hill-ish than I wanted (inspired by the raft scene in SH2), but I was happy to include everyone in the action. Having five characters was becoming a burden, having to put them into pairs or trios to ease the dialogue. The chapter felt very real to me, each of the characters showing their toughness and determination. However, the whole "setting water afire" thing might not exactly be realistic, but I got the idea from Friday the 13th Part VI (my favorite scene in the movie). Granted, Tommy uses gasoline in the movie, but the idea remains the same…yes, I'm aware gasoline doesn't mix with water while alcohol does. _

_I had actually never intended to use a shark in this scene, the whole idea felt very "bad Baywatch" to me. Like the show's writing staff was sitting around, saying "This scene is too boring…let's add sharks!" But in the end, I loved the idea of a Neptune having a go at them, making Jim lose his lucky coin. One, an excuse to make a reference to REmake, the other a foreshadowing of things to come…btw, took the title from a line in Samurai Champloo's opening theme, 'Battlecry'. A pretty mediocre anime, but I liked the music in it, and that line is really cool._


	21. Under the shadow of Umbrella

_**Under the Shadow of Umbrella**_

"It's _still_ not working," wailed Jim.

"Like I said, it's probably a result of a lockdown," Yoko replied, swiping her card again to no avail.

"Meaning, if we can get inside, we should be relatively safe," said George, examining the door.

"What about that panel, Yoko, do you know the code?"

The girl sighed, the memory once again eluding her. "Once upon a time," she said tiredly. "But now…"

"Maybe there's something on the card," suggested Jim. "A clue to the code, maybe?"

An urge to smack herself for missing something so obvious was pushed aside, instead questioning if it was her own lack of sleep making her act so idiotically. Flipping the card over, she saw a four-digit code, the distorted numbers written in marker beginning to streak.

"Damn, the water must have smeared it," she said. "I'm sorry."

Before she could feel sorrier for her pitiful self, Jim snatched the card from her, randomly punching numbers into the panel. Surprisingly, each failed entry didn't seem to faze him in the slightest, instead quickening his pace, narrowing the possibilities.

"I'd say that looks like a seven, not a two," suggested George, looking over Jim's shoulder at the card.

"I'd heard you doctors _wrote_ like shit," muttered Jim. "Didn't know you could _read_ shit too."

But surely enough, after trying with the seven, the lock released, the steel door panels sliding open. A long dark corridor lay before them. Behind them, the sun broke over the Arklay Mountains, radiating the path like it was destined to be. Shiny metallic panels reflected the sudden glow of the sunshine, illuminating the entire length of the empty hallway.

"Perhaps our luck is changing after all," said George, patting Jim on the shoulder. Feeling something out of place, the doctor flashed a concerned look to the others. "Jim, are you ok," he asked.

"I'm…fine, doc," Jim answered tiredly, as if he were struggling for the words. "Just…really beat after the swim…you know?"

"You look feverish," said Cindy, reaching out for his forehead. When he flinched away, she settled her hand instead on his arm, trying to comfort him.

"I'm fine," he insisted, stepping into the corridor. The others exchanged a worried glance before following him.

Still, Jim couldn't shake the bad feeling since losing his coin. Deep down, he knew it was just a keepsake, a meaningless souvenir, but at the same time, he couldn't deny that it had always tied directly into the luck of his life. He had lost it once, riding home on the subway, but miraculously found it the next morning on the ride into work. The odds of riding the same train on his return several hours later, sitting in the same seat…it was mind blowing. After a miserable night spent retracing his steps and giving up, the coin had inexplicably found its way back to him when he least expected it. His spirits buoyed by that happy twist of fate, he went on that night to dominate the brash teenagers at the local arcade in Street Fighter II.

And now she was gone. He'd always found it amusing how men considered all objects valuable to them to be in some way female. Their cars, their guns, their boats. Jim had once considered naming the coin, but he decided that was utterly ridiculous. Secretly, though, he liked the name Kelly. It was the first girl he had ever loved, from so very long ago. Vivid visions from that painful memory began to flash before his eyes, the colors blinding and agonizing. Using the wall as a guide, he continued pressing on, refusing to let the others see his sudden weakness. Luckily for him, George began to ramble, and of course all the women would turn all their attention towards the handsome doctor and forget about him, he thought bitterly.

"This is only a few miles up the river from the University," he said. "I was supposed to give a lecture there next week," he added, a wistful note to his words.

"And I was supposed to attend it," Yoko said suddenly, not realizing what she was saying.

"What?"

The girl stopped, her eyes focusing on something distant, something far beyond any of their eyes could see. Her mouth hung open, her expression impossible to read. Either she was racking her brain from a deluge of thought, or she was blanking out completely. Cindy reached for the girl, about to say something, when George stopped her.

"I suspect she's remembering something," he whispered. "Leave her be."

Jim took the time to regain his own balance, rubbing his eyes hard, trying to shake the visions. They soon faded, the survivors appearing before him in a kaleidoscope of distorted, fractured images. Still, it was better than what he'd been seeing only a minute ago.

"Man, talk about some _baggage_," he mumbled, seeing Yoko's expression.

Cindy looked at him harshly. Everyone had shown a genuine concern for his welfare, yet the moment someone else needed him, he shunned it. That kind of attitude wasn't going to help them.

"I was there," Yoko murmured weakly. "At the university…we were doing research…for Umbrella."

"And…?"

"Greg. He was the one leading it, but he…hated Umbrella for some reason. Greg, he knew my father from years ago…"

"Do you remember your family, Yoko?"

"No, I don't," she said, shaking her head sadly.

"You will," Cindy said, positive. "Not yet, but soon."

"Man, are we done here yet," whined Jim. "We're sitting ducks here…"

"There's a control center up on the right, just up ahead," Yoko said, no doubt in her voice.

"Well then, let's get moving," said Jim, hurrying to take the lead.

--

The control center was abuzz with activity, yet completely devoid of human life. All the systems and monitors and gauges were left unmanned, automated by the newest technologies on the market. Looking into the view monitors, the four saw what they had all suspected: the facility was abandoned. They saw neither human nor undead on the screens, nothing but an empty husk. Papers lay scattered about the floor, as if a hurricane had torn through the room.

"Looks we missed the great escape by a good 24 hours," said Jim, holding up a document.

"What's that, Jim," asked George, reaching for the paper. "This is…"

"An evacuation order," finished Jim. "Umbrella knows how to take care of their employees after all."

"They were probably taken into quarantine," said Yoko. "Or shot."

"How terrible," said Cindy, dismayed by the thought.

"It's out of our hands now, anyways," said George, his lack of concern surprising the others. "At least here, we can call for help," he added, fidgeting with the switches on a nearby control panel.

"Don't touch anything," Yoko ordered sternly, flipping through a thick manual.

"I'm going to check out that armory," said Jim, pointing to a monitor. "Looks like they left some primo shit behind."

"I'll go with you," offered George. "Just to be safe."

"Whatever," said Jim, exiting without waiting.

"Be careful," mouthed Cindy silently, locking her eyes with George's. Apparently Yoko wasn't the only one wary of Jim's condition.

The doctor only nodded, hurrying out the door to catch up with Jim.

--

The two women were left alone, Yoko busily flipping through control manuals while Cindy glanced over the monitors. The panels were far less elaborate than she would have thought. In fact, they were outright plain. In the movies, they were always multicolored, flashing boxes with more buttons than possible operations. Umbrella had apparently streamlined form and function, the monochrome terminals straightforward and uncomplicated.

One flashing screen in particular caught her eye. Or, more accurately, one scrolling word she saw again and again: warning. The red letters flickered on the monitor, the rest of the words moving by far too quickly for her to read before disappearing. Yoko had set down her thick guide and was seated at a terminal, tapping away at a keyboard.

"What are you trying to do, Yoko," inquired Cindy, looking from the screen.

"Trying to unlock the system's locks," replied the young girl. "Otherwise, those two won't be able to access the armory."

"I thought the lockdown ended when we came through the main door?"

"It seemed that way, but according to this manual, some of the facility's mechanisms will still be online."

"Like what?"

"I don't know…the manual didn't give any specifics, so I'm hoping the database here will have something of use. If I can just figure out how to access it directly…"

"Oh," said Cindy, embarrassed by her inability to contribute. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Well…you can flip through that directory booklet and see if you can find the records department."

"What kind of records," asked Cindy, picking up the binder.

"Employee records," mumbled the girl, looking away.

"You want to find your father's records? Or yours?"

"I'd be happy with either, I suppose."

As Cindy turned the pages, she couldn't help but watch the girl navigate the system's mainframe with tremendous ease. It was like watching a skilled harpist strumming her strings, or a masterful painter throwing broad, elaborate strokes with her brush against a blank canvas. She wondered if seeing George perform surgery would give her the same feeling, seeing him in his element. Her and Jim…what could they do to inspire others? What had either of them really contributed to the world? She had tried her best to brighten peoples' days, but what bar patron ever felt truly better from something so simple as being served with a smile? Even her friends before this whole thing happened; she never felt essential to them, and often wondered if she stopped calling them what would happen. They would probably lose touch without her making the effort, she thought. And Jim…she doubted that he had anyone close to him, not with the walls he'd built around himself.

"I'm sure she's fine," Yoko said suddenly, jarring Cindy from her thoughts.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Alyssa…isn't that who you were thinking about?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm worried about her and all…"

"But…?"

"I was just thinking…about how things used to be, you know?"

"No, not really…"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Yoko. I wasn't thinking at all."

"It's ok, Cindy. I know what you mean, even if I can't remember my own life. I can hardly imagine going back into the real world at this point, even if we do make it. None of the petty things that used to dominate our lives really matter anymore."

"Yeah, but it seems like everything in my life was pretty petty…meaningless. I wonder if the world would notice I was gone…"

"Of course it would, Cindy. You matter. We all matter," said the girl, and hearing herself say the words, she immediately felt guilty for her earlier thoughts about killing an infected Jim.

"I'm glad to hear you say that," brightened Cindy. "I was getting worried about you and Jim there for a minute…"

"What do you mean?" Yoko wondered if George had said something to her about it.

"There was a rift growing between you two, I could tell."

"Not this again…"

"Hey, I'm not saying you have to fall in love and get married, but I do think it's important that we care for each other, that we know there's a shared concern for one another's well being. Where would we be without that? Don't you see, that's what matters most to our survival; I don't think any of us really has anybody out there left to us…but if we have faith in each other, I know that will help carry our burdens through this awful time."

"I…suppose you're right, Cindy. But finding faith isn't as easy for you as it is for me."

"We've only made it this far by relying on each other," said Cindy. "No one could make it this far alone."

"I know that," said Yoko. "But we have nothing to show for it! All we've done is run from place to place, chasing the possibility of escape; what if it's not even there?"

"And what else would you do? Lock yourself in a room and wait for the inevitable?"

"…You sound like Alyssa."

"Maybe I do…and maybe that's a good thing," said Cindy, a thought coming to her. "We should keep an eye out for her, she may come any minute…"

"I'll see if I can get that front door unlocked," said the girl, turning back to her terminal.

"Say, what about this warning message," asked Cindy, seeing the monitor beginning to flash again. The words went by so quickly they might as well have been in another language. "Can you make anything of this?"

Yoko came over, resting a hand on the top of the monitor. The message flashed once more, her alert eyes taking in the flood of words and codes.

"Oh no," she breathed. "My god…"

"What is it, Yoko? What's the warning?"

"It's a…cleansing."

"What's th—?"

"The facility's automated defense systems, when recognizing a dangerous bio-infection, will locate, seal off, and…eliminate the threat."

"But then…that means…one of us must be infected."

"Or not just one. Maybe all of us…"

--

_Note: Ok, this chapter was a little shorter than usual, but I want to be able to focus on the next two chapters on their own. I had originally wanted to detail the facility a bit more, but I figure anyone who reads a RE fanfic has played the games and know they're all essentially the same. _

_Down to the last few chapters. I had at first wanted to end this with the next chapter, but I finally found a good break in it and can make it into three. One long part, and two short ones. This chapter is meant to set up the next big change, so it's a bit slow. _


	22. Loss

_**Loss **_

She didn't want to believe it. Shaking her head again, she denied what she knew to be true. But how far did that truth extend? Was one of them infected, or was it all of them?

"Maybe someone else is here," Cindy said weakly. "Maybe they set off the alert…"

"Look at the monitors, Cindy…anyone or anything here before us must have been wiped out already," said Yoko, flipping furiously through the manual.

"What are you doing, Yoko? We have to go after them!"

"There might be a way to deactivate the defense system from here," replied the girl, her brow furrowed in concentration. "It's too risky to go out there…"

"We need to warn them," cried Cindy, pacing back and forth by the door.

"See if you can find an intercom system," said Yoko, her eyes never leaving the computer screen. "If we're lucky, this section of the facility is off the main defense grid…"

"What do you mean?"

"This back entrance was the most secure from bio-weapons in the case of an outbreak. In a lockdown situation, this wing was to be an escape relay point, meaning an automated defense system would be more dangerous than helpful in this section," she replied, still tapping at her keyboard.

"So we should go after them to stop them before they reach this grid you're talking about…!"

"It might already be too late, if that warning message is any indication…"

"But, but…we can't just sit here!"

"Then look for the goddamn intercom," yelled Yoko, frustrated with Cindy's persistent concerns. "I can only do so much on my own!"

Rebuffed by Yoko's angry words, Cindy realized the young girl was right, and began to test the speaker panel by the main monitors. Just when she thought she had figured out the device, another monitor flickered to life, displaying a map of the complex. One of the sections began to flash, and Cindy's stomach sank when she realized that was the same hallway George and Jim were in.

Yoko continued to wade through the system's defenses, searching desperately for a deactivation window. Data flew past her eyes, an endless stream few minds could keep up with. Stopping the flow, Yoko called to Cindy.

"I think I might have something," she said hopefully, turning to find the room empty.

Cindy was gone.

--

"Wait up Jim," called George.

"What, you wanna 'check on me' again?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me, doc. I know you all scared of being alone with me, thinking I'm all weak and shit."

"Everyone's just worried about you, Jim."

"Worried about they own skin, you mean," said Jim. "If I wasn't a brother, this wouldn't even be an issue!"

"You think _that_'s what this is about?"

"Well, I keep overhearing you all being like 'look at his skin, look at the color'. I mean, what the fuck is that?"

"Jim, you know that's not even close to what they were talking about."

"I been singled out by people all my life, doc. I know how it is, and I've come to accept it. I just didn't think—"

Jim's words were cut off by the wail of a warning klaxon above them. A monotone voice that might have been intended to sound female came over the loudspeaker.

"WARNING…BIOHAZARD DETECTED…INITIATING 7-G PROTOCOL FOR SECTION CLEANSING."

"What is this…?"

As if the disembodied voice wished to reply, the ceiling opened suddenly, dropping a heavy steel gate between the two men. The two shared a worried look before two more gates fell, one at each end of the hallway, trapping them.

"Oh shit," squealed Jim.

--

"Shit," swore the girl again. She had been denied access to the security server for the eighth time, and she was beginning to lose patience. None of the pass codes in the manual worked, nor did the code on the back of her keycard. It seemed the system had been designed to be operated by only the higher ups in the corporation's facility. A sensible way to encourage the preservation of the department heads by the employees at the very least. How very typical of Umbrella, she thought.

But she dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come to her, working furiously at the system's defenses. Again, denied. It seemed it wasn't a matter of an elusive numerical code, but the administrator limiting the authorizations and rights to users. Slamming the keyboard down, she seemed to make up her mind, running out the door.

--

"Stay back," yelled George, seeing Cindy rushing towards him, her face streaked with worry. "It's not safe here!"

"Maybe she's got the key to these things," said Jim, who was still tugging futilely at the thick steel bars. "Help us Cindy!"

"What do I do," she cried helplessly. "I don't know what to do…!"

"Stay calm, Cindy," George said patiently, locking his eyes with hers. "I need you to stay calm…there's a panel behind you, on the wall. Go to it."

She nodded quickly, obeying him without hesitation. But she knew she was useless when it came to computers. What could she do?

"Look for an abort command," urged George, his hands clutching the bars tightly.

"WARNING…BIOHAZARD DETECTED…INITIATING 7-G PROTOCOL FOR SECTION CLEANSING."

"SHUT UP YOU BITCH," screamed Jim. He kicked vainly at the bars, yelping in pain as he fractured a toe.

"There's no 'abort' button," moaned Cindy.

"No, no, look for a command on the display interface…what does the screen look like?"

"I…I…" began Cindy weakly, feeling utterly useless. And then an idea occurred to her. "YOKO!" she yelled, waving to the camera.

"That bitch is _watching_ us die," asked Jim, angry.

"She's trying to find a way to stop the system defenses from the control room…"

"WARNING…BIOHAZARD DETECTED…"

"Yeah, and she's doing a _great_ fucking job," Jim said sarcastically.

"They're doing the best they can, Jim," said George calmly.

"George…" Cindy said, rushing towards him, abandoning the computer panel.

"You shouldn't be here," he said softly, his dark eyes intense. "It's too dangerous."

"WARNING…"

"I don't care," she replied angrily. "I can't just let you die!"

"BIOHAZARD…"

"Yoko," yelled Jim suddenly, as the girl appeared around the corner. "Check that panel over there!"

But she was already at it, pounding away wordlessly at the terminal, deep in concentration.

"Cindy," began George, watching her intently. "If we don't make it out, I want you to—"

"…SECTION CLEANSING…"

"Don't be silly," Cindy said, wiping away a tear. "We're _all_ going to make it out of here."

"But if we don't," insisted George, resting his hand on hers. "I want you to make it out of here. For all of us that didn't…no matter what."

"George, I…" she fumbled weakly, trying to find the words.

"Please, let me finish," he said gently. "What you said to me yesterday, about these short days left to us…I finally know what you meant…"

The warning alarm continued its banshee shriek, the flashing red siren flooding the hallway with an ocean of crimson. But despite the commotion, Cindy heard his every word, felt his every emotion.

"WARNING…"

"All these years, all those mistakes…yet my only regret is not having the courage to talk to you sooner," he confessed. "I wanted you to know, the first time I came into your bar was one of the worst in my life, my marriage over. And then I saw you, your smile lifting everyone's spirits, even mine…I wish we could have shared something sooner, without us having to lose the world just to bring you into my life. But no matter my regrets or losses, I want you to know how much you mean to me, Cindy. How important you'll mean to the world when you get out of this. The world needs a heart Cindy. It needs you…"

"INITIATING 7-G PROTOCOL…"

"My life is shit," wailed Jim. "Yoko, do something!"

"I'm trying," she yelled back, her eyes never leaving the terminal.

"SECTION CLEANSING…"

"I need you to do one last thing for me, Cindy," asked George sadly, caressing her shaking hand. "I need you to look away. When it comes…please, look away," he begged, releasing her hand and stepping back into the cage.

"WARNING…"

"George, I can't…" wept Cindy, pounding her tiny fists against the bars. "I can't…"

He looked longingly at her, his quiet dignity filling her heart with sorrow.

"Live," he whispered, his smile sad.

"SECTION CLEANSING…COMMENCING."

She didn't look away.

--

Afterwards, she clung feebly to the bars, the sobs that had wracked her body long passed. She became dimly aware of the girl standing by her, both struggling to accept what they had witnessed. The girl knelt by her side, pressing a kind hand against Cindy's shuddering back.

"I'm so sorry Cindy," said Yoko, her own eyes wet with tears.

"It's not your fault," whispered Cindy, looking away. "There was nothing more you could have done…"

"If only I'd had more time…I could've stopped this."

"It doesn't matter now," Cindy said weakly, making no effort to move, her head hanging.

"We have to go, Cindy," urged Yoko, pulling on the woman's limp hand.

"Why, it doesn't matter now anyways…nothing does."

"It mattered to George," argued Yoko. "He would have wanted you to make it out of this, I know it."

"And he's gone now, burnt to ashes," she wept, burying her face in her hands. It seemed there were always more tears to cry.

"He didn't give his life so you could just give up and die, dammit," said Yoko, grabbing Cindy's arm fiercely. "If he mattered at all to you, you'll respect what he sacrificed and move!"

"He mattered more to me than you'll ever know," Cindy said hollowly, her eyes distant. "What's left now?"

"And where would we be without our faith in each other," asked Yoko, remembering Cindy's words. "What would we have to sustain us other than that faith, knowing there is genuine concern for each other? We need each other to survive, just as you needed him and he needed you. Hold on to that now, and it'll get us out of here…"

Cindy looked at her now with a renewed hope, a tearful sadness lingering in her eyes. But she stood all the same, her knees quivering.

"You're…right," nodded Cindy, closing her eyes tightly to blink away tears. "Of course…you're right."

"I learned from the best," replied Yoko, shouldering her friend up. "We all have to help carry each others' burdens, right?"

Cindy didn't reply; her face buried in her free hand. She kept pace, however, the pair moving upwards through the facility.

"George…" she whispered, casting back one last glance at his burnt remains.

--

"There should be a communications center up here," said Yoko, as they reached the third floor. So far, they hadn't encountered any more automated defense systems, which meant one of the men must have triggered the sensors. If only she had taken care of it sooner, thought the girl.

"Who's out there to help us," Cindy asked tiredly. "No one."

"We'll find out soon enough," answered the girl, casting Cindy an annoyed glance. She could understand her pain, but now wasn't the time to grieve.

The locks throughout the facility had all been disarmed from her accessing the control panel. Apparently, the automated defenses were on a different command matrix, which had limited her access earlier. The steel doors of the Com center slid open easily, revealing an empty but well-lit room. Yoko dumped Cindy in a nearby chair, moving over to the main control panel.

It was set to receive signals, but all it seemed to get was static. The frequency adjuster was digital, scanning for transmissions on every wavelength. Yoko fiddled with the device's knob, before she saw something of real use: a regular desktop PC. She sidled up to the desk, pulling out the keyboard tray.

"Do you still have Alyssa's zip disk," she called to Cindy, who still seemed to be in a daze. "Cindy!"

Startled, Cindy looked at the girl, puzzled. "Yes, I still have it," she replied, walking over to hand the girl the disk.

"This should do some good then," she said, sliding the gray disk into the PC's slot. "I can upload all her research and data onto the Web from here…maybe it all wouldn't have been for nothing."

The prospect seemed to pick up Cindy's spirits, the futility of her earlier pessimism passing. She nodded, watching Yoko navigate through the Internet and firewalls, posting the information wherever she could. News sites, message boards, emails…it was all foreign to Cindy, but before they were done, she saw them all filled with Alyssa's last work. Her voice would be heard, no matter what else happened.

"Good work, Yoko," she said appreciatively, resting a hand on the girl's shoulder. The two exchanged a relieved look, sharing the knowledge that all their pain and suffering had meant something. Before another word could be spoken, the radio behind them crackled to life, a distant voice coming over the speaker.

"Is anybody out there? This is RCFD chopper 711, over Raccoon University airspace…is anyone out there? Please respond," buzzed the radio.

"That's only a few miles up the river," said Cindy, reaching for the transceiver. "Hello chopper 711, can you hear me? We are stranded a few miles south of you, in an abandoned building along the river. Can you help us? Uh, over."

"We read you loud and clear, miss. How many other survivors are there? Over."

"It's just…the two of us," replied Cindy, her lower lip threatening to quiver. "Over."

"Roger that, ma'am. We can make it there in about five minutes. Please find a clearing for a pickup point, the higher the better. Over and out."

"Understood. Oh, over and out," Cindy said, ending the conversation, her head swimming with giddiness. A chopper escort out of town? It was almost too good to be true.

--

"Looks like you're going to have some company back there," said Danny, setting down the radio.

"I think she's asleep," said Gil, watching her in the rear mirror. "Thank god," he muttered under his breath.

"Aw, she's not that bad, just really pushy."

"Since when do you like pushy women?"

"Well, can we really be picky in this kind of situation?"

"Haha, I guess not. I still prefer her ass asleep than bossing us around, though."

"She's probably had a really rough time of it down there," said Danny, watching her with sympathetic eyes. "We were lucky to get this bird when we did…"

"Yeah, and she was lucky we picked her bossy ass up, but do we even get a 'thank you'? Hell no."

"It's a miracle she made it out of there on her own…can't imagine what she's gone through…"

"Yeah, and that thing at the school…what the hell was that?"

"Man, I don't even want to know."

"Worse than any fire I ever fought."

"Same here, man. I'd take a five-alarmer over that monster any day of the week."

"That's cuz you've never seen a real five-alarmer, probie."

"Suck it, Gil, I've seen plenty."

"Yeah, like when? Just name one."

"The Apple Inn fire? Just a few days ago?"

"Man, that was nothing; couldn't have been more than a 3'er. I seen worse fires at barbecues."

"Yeah, and did those barbecues have skinless monsters ripping off peoples' heads?"

"You've never met my in-laws…"

As the men continued to playfully bicker over their wealth of experience, Alyssa stirred slightly in her sound slumber. Somewhere in the distance, farther than she could have thought possible, she heard Cindy's voice.

--

The two women stood on the rooftop, the light breeze brisk against their skin. The wind had picked up, flowing up the river and dissipating the thick fog. The skies were mostly clear, scattered clouds dotting the blue horizon. Dawn had passed, giving way to early morning. Though there were trees all around them, they heard no birds chirping, saw no squirrels foraging. Apparently the wildlife had been wiser than their human counterparts, who had refused to take action in the early hours of the outbreak. Many had refused to believe the stories, more refusing to leave their homes and everything familiar. They had been the first to go, packaged meals behind flimsy wood doors and glass windows, begging to be cracked open by hungry zombies.

But that was far behind them, the hopeful promise of escape just over the horizon. Once they were in the sky, they would be safe, on their way out of this hellhole. Yoko looked at Cindy, wondering if it would matter. She had seemed better since the radio transmission, but Yoko had her doubts that Cindy was strong enough to keep going. Only a day ago, such thoughts would never have even entered her mind, but now, with George and Jim gone, she seemed so lost, so ready to give up hope.

The exhaustion and fatigue from the previous days was catching up to both of them. Though they had found scattered catnaps and brief breaks from the insanity of the situation, their spirits were dimmed, nearly beaten. There wasn't much left in the tank for either of them.

"We're going to make it," said Yoko. "I can feel it."

Cindy only nodded, her eyes locked on something far off in the distance.

"Are those…fireflies," she asked dreamily, pointing at glowing dots high above the horizon, bright against the wispy clouds.

"No," replied Yoko, her heart sinking. "They're missiles."

--

"Holy Christ," breathed Gil. "They're not for real, are they?"

"I think they are," pointed Danny. "Look…there, over those hills!"

"We're not going to have enough time to pick up those two survivors and make it out…"

"It's only a few more miles…"

"Yeah, but it's there _and_ back, Danny…think about it. We'll never make it out in time!"

"But I promised her I'd—"

"Forget your promise man, we're dead if we stay any longer! Those missiles will hit any minute…!"

Gil heard a distinctive click by his ear, felt a hot breath on his neck.

"What's a man without his word," asked Alyssa, resting the barrel of her handgun against Gil's head. "You're picking my friends up."

"Your…friends…?"

The exhausted woman nodded slowly. "Yeah, my friends…now stay on course, shithead."

"But you'll die too," argued Gil, glancing at her in the mirror.

"Then we die," she shrugged, leaning back in her seat. "What's a few more casualties?"

As she sank into the soft leather of the backseat, Alyssa began to wonder who else had made it out with Cindy. Most likely George, she thought, but if it were Jim or Yoko, she wouldn't be surprised. Jim had a scrappiness that reminded her of her younger days, and Yoko a levelheaded resourcefulness that would've made any reporter proud.

The tall trees dotting the river's edge thinned, revealing a tucked away building surrounded by a tall, steel fence. Though barely dots in the distance, Alyssa's eagle eye picked out the two survivors waving frantically on the building's rooftop. So Yoko had been the one to make it, she grinned tiredly. Looked like it was down to the women, she thought, just before losing consciousness. From somewhere far away, she heard an unfamiliar voice calling to her.

_

* * *

Note: Ok, last chapter is coming up that should tie together the remaining threads. By the way, the two firefighter pilots, Danny and Gil, were in Outbreak; seen as pilots at the end of the game, and one of them breaks down the door in Hellfire after the boss fight. _


	23. End of Days

**_End of Days_**

Hundreds of miles south of Raccoon City and exactly one mile underground, was a room. Hidden deep in the heartland of America, buried under nondescript hay fields and dusty plains, this room contained some of the country's finest and most experienced military minds. At the moment, these same brilliant minds were all opposed to one another, their argument testing the fine American craftsmanship of the soundproofed walls. One man, his countless medals identifying him as a high ranking General, sat silently and watched stoically as his trusted men's boisterous voices rose and fell over each other's disagreeing words. A hush fell over the room as the red signal at the center of the long table began to flash.

"Open the channel, Cole," ordered the man to his communications officer. The large monitors at the far end of the room instantly switched over, the displayed data and charts vanishing to reveal a familiar face. The General cursed under his breath. "Mister Secretary," he said respectfully, taking barely a moment to compose himself.

"Good morning, General," said the other man, his beady eyes taking in his old acquaintance. "It's been a long time…"

"This is neither the time nor place to exchange pleasantries, Davis…not if you're using the President's direct line. I don't suppose I have to remind you that this line is strictly for _his_ emergency use…"

"Please excuse my lapse in protocol, then," he apologized offhandedly. "The President himself has authorized me to make this call, in light of the recent…turmoil in the Middle East. You know how it is."

"I would have thought this domestic situation would take priority, Mr. Secretary, over some piddling religious extremists."

"As would I…but we both know there is only one path to take here, little need for diplomacy. This is routine, by-the-book protocol, General. Washington is trying to figure out what's taken you so long as it is."

"Those people…they deserve a chance, Davis. They—"

"Remember your official capacity in this situation, General," he interrupted coldly, his voice hardening. "Need I remind you of the possibility that your quarantine breaks? Infection of the populace would increase exponentially. As such, standard operating procedure in this scenario elicits a 24-hour window. You've squandered that window into over double that time. The President is not happy."

"With all due respect, Mr. Secretary, then he should have told me that himself…"

"You're answering to me, now, General. The President gave the green light over fourteen hours ago. Why haven't you launched the missiles yet?"

"I'm not ready to exterminate a hundred thousand lives, Davis. Not then…and not now," he replied, the last words barely a whisper.

"You will do as ordered or you will face charges of treason, General. Your illustrious military career—" the man stopped short, his face softening with his tone. "Look, Harry…you've seen the scenario data. There's no way she could have made it out. You're jeopardizing the rest of the country, maybe even the world, by hanging on to this hope."

"It's not that, Davis," insisted the General, but his eyes betrayed his true feelings.

"My hands are tied here as well, old friend," he said gently, before resuming his professional demeanor. "You have until the end of the hour to carry out your orders, General Lennox."

"I understand, Mr. Secretary," the older man said with a nod.

The monitors switched back over to the data, and General Lennox couldn't deny the facts. No one could make it out of there alive. Twelve full battalions of trained soldiers had died in that hell, with two squadrons still missing. What could she do? She was dead, just like the others.

"Have the missiles prepped," he said finally. His men obeyed without question, any feelings of guilt absent from their faces.

"Forgive me, honey," he whispered to himself as he left the room.

--

Her mouth was dry, tasting of dirt. Crunchy, salty. The air was sticky, the humidity dripping down her skin in tiny rivulets. She shuddered, knowing the chilly night would soon descend, turning that sweat to ice. And not far behind the icy darkness would come the noises, the creepy creaks of the living forest. She would feel the glowing eyes upon her back, gleaming orbs that would disappear the moment she turned to face them.

_What the hell is this? I must be dreaming._

Darkness began to unfold across the sky, the brilliant colors of the summer sky enveloped by the murky blackness that spread like disease. The shimmering hues of red and gold that had melted so seamlessly together turned grainy, the edges of the endless colors vanishing against the growing shroud in the skies. It reminded her of an awful painting she had once seen, the contrast of the colors sosharp that it appeared to be layered, divided by a harsh, definitive line. The exhibition had been full of young, aspiring snobs longing for a chance to practice their pretentiousness, and she had been assigned the dubious task of writing a critique for the school's paper. She had lampooned the painting style, and had received a flood of angry letters demanding she retract her claims, that she had no real "understanding" of higher art. It was her first byline, and her last with that paper. An amateur rag, she had called it before storming out.

_Why am I thinking of that? That was almost ten years ago._

She was fourteen again, wandering aimlessly in the thick woods of the Arklay Mountains. Her stomach rumbled, the pangs of hunger growing painful, threatening to feast on the lining of her stomach. Stumbling blindly, she leaned against a pale ash tree, its whiteness like a beacon in the shrill dark. The buzz of the forest rang mercilessly in her ears, the wildlife seemingly deriving pleasure from her discomfort. It was like her first visit to a prison to interview a suspect, the hooting and hollering of the lonely inmates raining upon her, the men finding a perverse joy in the way she hung her head and hurried along, their catcalls only gathering momentum.

_You wondered then, didn't you? You wondered what a slut you were, that deep down, maybe they were right, that you wanted it you needed it you deserved it like that time—_

The earth beneath suddenly loosened, and she began to tumble down a steep slope, the rocks biting at her flesh, the wiry branches clawing at her skin. She tasted blood, running her tongue along the cut on the inside of her mouth as she flew through space. She had tasted her own blood before, and had even once tasted her brother's on a dare, but never had it tasted so good, so right

_Was it the dehydration? That any moisture would sate your parched throat? _

Her legs began to quiver weakly, and she felt that damned dampness between her thighs again. Rubbing them together feverishly did nothing, the shuddering feeling of shameful lust and indignation running its course through her nubile young body like a—  
_demon possessed of rage so hateful it spews foam from cracked blackened lips_

Fractured images of red shimmered before her like flaming hot hellish fire, her skin beginning to blister and peel but without pain in her nerves, long dead from the never ending torture. How easy it would be to just stand there, maybe lie down, letting the fire slowly consume her flesh and blacken it to charred ash like the stuff under the normal-looking stovetop

The screech of the creature shook her from her self-loathing reverie, a skinned monkey-like monster hanging from the ceiling, sucking juicy brain matter out of a decapitated head that had very nearly been her  
_like an oyster with good cocktail sauce, blood red and just the right amount of spice to it_

The innards spilled down its pointy chin, dripping down to a muscled chest but no, with breasts like it had once been a woman like her but not like her because it was a monster

No…it _was_ like her. _She_ was like it. She was a monster. And she was famished. Where was _her_ head to feast upon?

It opened its empty eyes to a new world.

--

The helicopter appearing over the horizon was easily one of the most beautiful things either of the women had ever seen. A simple thing, really, but breathtaking in its own right. Like a beacon of light in a tumultuous and dark sea, the elated pair felt drawn to their rescuers, climbing to the rooftop to eagerly wave their hands. This was it. They were going to make it.

But something had happened aboard the chopper before it could land. Something that caused it to jerk wildly about, plunging in a dramatic freefall to crash into the rocky valley below. Thick black smoke drifted upwards, the dense shroud standing out sharply against the clear skies. The women turned away from the wreckage, their hearts dejected.

"Oh my god," breathed Yoko. Cindy hung her head in defeat. Neither could look at the other.

The missiles drew closer.

--

He picked the receiver up hesitantly, staring at it for a moment before bringing it to his ear. Dialing a long number from memory, he stared longingly at a photograph on his desk. He turned away slightly when the other end connected, but his eyes never strayed from the picture.

"It's me," he said gruffly.

"General Lennox," said that familiar smooth voice. Try as he might to sound friendly, the coldness of his persona always shone through. "How unexpected of you to call. What is the status of our…situation?"

"The President has reinstated the green light for the launch."

"He told you that himself?"

"No, Secretary Graham made the call."

"Did he now…? Interesting…"

"Enough of these games," said the General angrily. "I'm launching the missiles within the hour."

"That is not a very good idea, General," said the voice coldly. "You know as well as I that keeping Raccoon City intact is important to our…interests."

"I've no choice," sighed the General. "This has to be done."

"Need I remind you of our substantial monetary investments—"

"You think your money matters to me anymore! I don't give a damn about your money!"

"And your career? Have you thought about what kind of pariah this will make you, the killer of thousands? You will be finished," he said calmly.

"You think I don't know that, you sniveling snake? My daughter is in that hellhole! Do you know what it means to lose everything?"

"If you have the city destroyed, I believe I will."

"What, your precious data and research? Don't you understand, that means nothing now! I'm going to lose my family, my career…what else is there?"

"You may think you have nothing to lose at this point, General Lennox, but rest assured…there is no doubt something you have forgotten—"

"Something you think you can hold over my head? You still don't get it, do you, you arrogant bastard? I'm done!" he yelled. "I'm done," he quietly repeated. "You can have me disgraced, you can have me killed…it just doesn't matter to me anymore," he said softly, hanging up the phone. His eyes watered as he slowly reached for the picture on his desk.

Clutching the framed photograph in his shaking hands, his fingers lightly caressed the image of a pretty blonde child sitting on his broad shoulders, her gleeful face an infectious ray of sunshine. It was one of the only photographs where he wore a smile; he couldn't recall a time he had smiled since that picture, taken over eighteen years ago. He hadn't seen his daughter since her graduation, the night she packed up her things with tears in her eyes and left his life for good, long after the smile had faded and shortly after the drinking had again spiraled out of control.

It was twelve hours later when they found his body.

Neighbors had heard a gunshot, and upon investigation, the MP's found dozens of empty liquor bottles scattered on the scene, including one half emptied in his hand. In the other was his service pistol, minus one forty five caliber round. The photograph he had treasured more than anything in the world sat on the floor, the glass panel cracked and splattered with blood.

He was buried the next day at Arlington cemetery, the President himself taking time out of his busy schedule to attend the service. The liquidation of Raccoon City was not mentioned, nor was the cause of his death. When asked later by reporters about the General's shaky history, the President simply replied: "He was a good soldier."

--

A sort of quiet calm had fallen over the women, a tranquility neither had known since the outbreak began. Their eyes were blank, masking even the faintest of emotions.

"So this is it, huh," Yoko asked feebly. She felt warm arms envelop her, Cindy's chin pressing against the top of her head. Yoko turned in Cindy's arms, huddling against the woman as she suddenly broke into sobs. "It can't end like this! Not to us!"

Cindy gently soothed her, cradling the fragile young girl in her arms. She had felt so lost only minutes ago, the wear of the fatigue, the sorrow of a loss greater than herself tearing her apart. But now, with the approach of the inevitable, she found a strange sense of peace, even relief. Her thoughts turned to the man she had lost, and she felt hot tears burn her otherwise serene face.

Those same tears fell on the girl, the stinging sensation like hot ashes on her scalp. Something in her head clicked. Through the hazy blur of her own wet tears, she could see herself. She is a child again, and her mother is holding her tightly, crying softly. Your father had an accident, she says, her words hollow and her voice resigned. I told him to be careful at that lab, she adds with a tearful sigh. Young Yoko wonders to herself how it happened, her dreaded nightmares about the man with the impossibly gigantic black eyes coming to focus. The future looks grim, countless questions left unanswered, persistent doubts looming. Something in her mother's voice echoes the same fears, the same uncertainty…but at the same time, there is love, and the knowledge that everything will be fine as long as they have each other. It's a good feeling, a strong memory that stands out above the others as they flood her mind's eye.

"Cindy," said Yoko quietly, her eyes closed. "You remind me of…my mother."

A warmth spread through Cindy's body, the words she had waited a lifetime to hear resounding a joyous shout in her heart. Maybe she had found her place after all, she thought. Maybe the hardest times were past. Maybe even the shortest days would end.

"We'll be with them soon," she whispered, hugging her young friend tightly.

The missiles broke through the clouds like the morning's first light, descending silently upon the smoldering cityscape. Cindy turned her face upwards to bathe in the sun's rays, its gentle warmth drying the last of her tears. The afterglow of the morning's radiance hovered over the land, the beautiful splendor of the pristine river nestled at the foot of white-capped mountains lost on her. As the missiles began to fall, she faced them unflinchingly, and smiled.

The end.

* * *

_Final Notes: So there you have it, another complete work. Part of it got away from me in the middle there, where it began to feel like a chore writing such repetitive stuff. Tried to mix it up towards the end, while staying true to what had worked early on. To tell the truth, it wasn't very hard to kill off any of these characters; the only one I felt remotely close to was Cindy, and maybe George (my two favorite characters in the game as well)._

_You're probably wondering what the deal is with the smile at the end. It's the ending from Steinbeck's greatest work, one of the most mysterious and memorable endings I can think of. So yeah, I tried to bite off of it…I didn't want it to be mysterious, however. I wanted this to explain what it had all been for in the first place. Trying to survive that hell, I imagine most people would lose sight of what they want to live for, other than saying simply "I want to live!" For Cindy, it was to love and be loved, a pure love without lust or desire (something harder for us attractive people to find, I assure you). Yoko gaining her memories back, being able to leave the past behind her, and embrace Cindy as a maternal figure…that was my intended goal for the whole story. The scene of one regaining his or her memory is hard to write; it's easy to simply say "her memories returned", but showing it is a hell of a lot harder. The best portrayal I've ever seen is from Cowboy Bebop. Those randomly skewed images, in the shower, that music…just simply fantastic. Still the best anime series ever made, I think._

_I'd gotten some good advice on the plot progression, but sadly a bit late. The ending was something I wanted to build towards from the very beginning, with a few scattered locales thrown in for good measure. I didn't want to add a lot of cameos, as I wanted this story to be only about the central four or five characters. Alyssa was put in by popular request, and I have to admit, I liked her as a character. For a moment, I actually considered abandoning the ending I had planned from the start, and making her rescue attempt succeed. But then, that'd be too "Hollywood". BTW, in case it wasn't clear, General Lennox is Cindy's father. I at first threw him in there to pad the length (and was planning to connect him to Mark), but more than that, I wanted to explain that weird ending cut scene in File 2 with that General overseeing the end of RC. I wish I could've thought of this detail earlier, and hinted at it in the story. But it kind of came together at the end in a way I wanted, so in that respect, I'm satisfied with it._

_Like I've said before, this ending was a combination of the first few endings I experienced while playing online. The first was as Alyssa, causing the chopper crash because I had to use my one Daylight on Thanatos (never occurred to me to use it on myself). The first pair ending I got was Cindy and George, and I loved the poetic imagery and subtlety of it so much that I imagined others having their own. I had also thought of one with Mark and Jim, but it didn't have the emotional impact that I wanted._

_I realize Jim kind of got the short end of the stick, but I figure it's his price for getting infected and getting George killed. His end was the hardest to decide, whether to have him transform, save everyone, or simply die. I choose the easy death route, as he was getting bothersome to write. I wanted to use some more recurring poetic imagery at the end there, but realized I hadn't used much throughout the story in the first place; internalized a bit more than I had intended. Oh well, that was the point of this whole thing, to give some more insight into some familiar characters. Hope you enjoyed the story; the ending is probably the closest to my heart. Sad, but hopeful._


End file.
